


Clockwork

by NotTasha



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezra acquires a clock, which contains a mystery.  With JD, he tries to track down some answers.  Things turn serious when JD is held hostage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: PG  
> CATEGORY: Challenge - OW  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Ezra and JD  
> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. This story is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Showtime Extreme, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.  
> NOTE: It answers the July 2006 Challenge, offered by Enola: How about a story where time is a deciding factor? Either it's running out or it centers around a certain day or even a timepiece.  
> SUMMARY: There's a mystery involving a clock -- and Ezra's under a deadline.  
> DATE: Originally posted September 3, 2010.

PART 1:

The man, out of breath and red faced, clomped into the saloon and made a beeline to the poker table. He paused, clutching a cloth-wrapped parcel to his chest.

"Well?" Ezra drawled, leaning back in his chair, looking bored and annoyed. With one hand, he flipped a coin idly, catching it with the same hand, and then flipping it again. "You have left me waiting for some time."

"I hurried as fast as I could," the man countered. "Had to run to my room and back."

Ezra pulled his watch from its pocket with his free hand and declared, "It's 7:00 in the evening. My compatriot and I have much to do before the day is over."

"Not yet seven," the man, a drummer named Jenkins, declared, pointing out the window. "It's still a quarter to!" And he indicated the big clock tower on the city hall.

Ezra frowned. "That clock is wrong."

"It ain't off bad today," someone in the crowd muttered and people checked their watches against the clock. "It's just about right." And everyone around him murmured their agreement. "Minute or two off if anything."

Someone else added, "Long as the town runs on that time, all is well."

"But the train is always early!" someone else piped in helpfully.

Ezra sighed, sounding put upon, as he clapped his pocket watch shut. He returned it to his waistcoat and said, "Still, I have been waiting." He flipped the coin again.

The man went on, "I brought it, just like I told you. Can't help it if it takes a while to fetch it." He unwrapped the parcel as if it was a mummy fresh from the tomb. "Grand, ain't it?"

The little crowd leaned in, and some of them even breathed a quiet, "Oooo!"

"What is it?" JD asked excitedly, sitting up violently from his seat. "What you got?" Then, "It's gold, Ezra! It's a gold clock!" 

Triumphantly, the man thumped the mantle clock down on the table. "Pure gold and worth $20! I know 'cause that's what I just paid for it at that second-hand store."

Ezra let the coin drop to the table with a little 'clink'. "Gold?" he asked drearily. "I rather doubt that." But his gaze stayed fastened on the clock.

"It's gold, alright," Jenkins continued. "Just look at it. You can check it out if you want."

"I shall," Ezra responded. One hand crawled across the table and snagged the ornate piece. He pulled it to himself and poked at the clock, hefted it and grimaced. "It's definitely not solid gold. It doesn't have the weight." 

"Aw," the drummer grumbled, having realized the same already. "It's a mighty fine piece though. Well worth the amount needed to stay in the game, don't you think?" 

"Does it run?" Ezra asked. 

Jenkins shrugged. "Like I said, I just bought it today. Someone is selling off all the mortal belongings of some fella named Dunkirk who got himself killed. There's a man down the street selling his assets." 

One of the observers nodded and said, "Lucky Pete has a mighty fine shop. He'll buy up just about anything and resell it." 

"The clock really is a beaut," Jenkins went on. "It's well made, and darn pretty, too. You look like the kind of man that enjoys fine things, am I right? I'm thinkin' it's worth at least twice what I paid for it. I aim to sell it when I reach Tucson."

Ezra continued his examination of the clock. He scrutinized the face, opened the back to check the works, checked the front cabinet door and poked at the pendulum that was loose for travel at the bottom of the box.

"So, are we okay?" Jenkins asked, rubbing his hands.

"If it is so valuable to you," Ezra started, "I'm afraid you might find yourself miserable at its loss." 

Jenkins smiled. "I don't think that's gonna happen. I think you're the one gonna feel some misery when this is done."

Ezra pushed the weight, shoving it around a little in the space. He paused in his movements and withdrew his hand carefully.

"It looks pretty good, Ezra," JD decided to put in. "Bet it's worth what he paid for it."

Ezra flashed JD a withering look, and then settled the clock next to the pile of cash. "As my young friend stated, it is worth enough to call. This will do," he stated.

Jenkins grinned as he returned to his seat, settling his hat beside him. His hand of cards remained on the table and he glanced at those who were left to guard it.

A man with a scruffy beard told Jenkins, "Nothin's been touched. Only thing that happened is that kid started belly-achin' that they didn't serve milk here at the Rose."

The men chuckled. JD sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring toward Ezra. "All I wanted was something to drink that'd fill me up. I'm hungry."

Ezra raised his hand toward JD. "Patience, my friend," he said. "We'll be finished here shortly." And he picked up his waiting cards. "Ready, sir?"

"More than ready!" Jenkins said confidently, his greedy gaze on the pile of cash and merchandise. "I'm gonna sleep well tonight! Gonna get me a fine bed at the inn instead of at the Hotel Partridge, and a big ol' dinner. Sorry, kid," he addressed JD. "You and your fancy friend here will have to go hungry when this hand is done."

JD's jaw dropped a fraction and he jerked his gaze toward Ezra who kept his attention on Jenkins.

"We'll just have to see what happens next," Standish told Jenkins. "Your cards, sir?"

And in the matter of a few moments, Jenkins left the table with nothing but his hat as Ezra raked the spoils in.

The other men in the saloon brayed at the departing drummer, and slapped Ezra on the back.   
Ezra grinned, accepting their praise. "Anyone up for another game?" he asked as he stacked the bills.

JD moaned and clutched his stomach as if it pained him, but nobody wanted to take the gambler up on his offer. Jenkins gone, the crowd dispersed.

"Pity," Ezra mumbled as he folded the bills and shoved them into his pocket. He took the cloth that had wrapped the clock and put it to that purpose again.

"We going?" JD asked.

"It's time we found some dinner," Ezra declared as he stood, tucking the clock under his arm and moving toward the door. "But first, a quick stop in our room."

JD grabbed his hat and hurried to keep up with his friend.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

"I think," JD said as they moved through the door to their hotel, "I think we should try that Marilee's Restaurant." He nodded to the desk clerk as they breezed through the lobby at the Wagner Hotel and headed to the stairs. "Smelled pretty good when we went by. I think she had fresh biscuits baking and it looked like a nice place, since they had white linens on the table and flowers there, too. I think you should buy, seein' as how you won so much money and made me wait so long 'cause I haven't even had lunch 'cept for that sandwich and apple on the trail and that wasn't nearly enough and I usually like to eat by 6 o'clock." 

They clomped up the stairs to the second level and to their room. "Think they have fresh fried chicken?" JD asked as Ezra keyed open the door. "I could do for some fried chicken and mashed potatoes and corn and maybe some cake or something sweet for dessert." 

Ezra said nothing and headed toward one of the beds. It was their second room in the hotel, the first had overlooked the privies out back, and Ezra wanted nothing to do with that – he preferred a decent view of the main street and managed to procure the better room somehow. 

Once seated, Standish unwrapped the clock. 

"That's a mighty fine clock you won, Ezra," JD told him. "You aimin' to keep it or to sell it?" 

"I aim to crack it open," Ezra responded, flashing a mischievous grin at the kid. 

"What? I don't… why's that?" JD sat on the bed opposite Ezra's. 

"Patience, Mr. Dunne. Wait and see." Ezra pulled open the cabinet door on the clock and tipped it until the loose pendulum dropped out. Then he turned it further until the clock was totally upside down. He gave its bottom a solid whack. 

JD squeaked in disbelief. "Hey, that ain't going to do it no good," he declared and Ezra whacked it again, and then he narrowed his eyes as the square piece of wood that formed the cabinet's floor fell into Ezra's awaiting hand.

Ezra up-righted the clock and peaked into the cabinet. "Ah-ha! Very clever." 

"What? What is it?" JD inquired, leaning in close. 

Ezra turned the device so that JD could see. There was an area beneath the false floor of the clock, a secret space – and mortared to the floor with clay – a key. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

"How'd you know it was there?" JD asked as he wiped at his hands with the white napkin. Bare chicken bones, jam and crumbs littered his otherwise empty plates. 

Ezra shrugged. "The floor didn't fit securely to the bottom of the cabinet. Certainly, a fine clock such as that would have been made better. The floor was probably meant to be lifted with greater care, but I didn't have time to find a proper tool." 

"What are you going to do with it?" JD glanced at the skeleton key on the table. It was a distinctive looking piece, engraved with curly-cues at its handle. 

Ezra shrugged. "I was hoping to find the family jewelry secreted in the clock's base. Instead I have a worthless key to nothing."

JD picked up the key and scrutinized it. "Bet it goes to something important. I've never seen a key so fancy."

"Pity we have no idea what that might be." Ezra looked disappointed and intrigued at the same time.

"That fella Jenkins said he bought the clock at a sale. Someone was selling a bunch of stuff for a guy that died. Maybe the lock that goes with this key is there somewhere?" And JD lifted his gaze to meet Ezra's eyes. "It makes sense, don't it?"

And a light seemed to come on inside him. "Yes," Ezra declared, shoving back his chair and standing. "Perfect sense, Mr. Dunne. Let's see if the sale is still going on that this hour. Perhaps we can get a little lucky." He snagged an appropriate amount of money from his pocket, and left it at the table. As he leaned, he took the key from JD.

JD looked momentarily annoyed, but followed him nonetheless.

"Delightful," Standish told the serving girl as they moved past her. "Please thank the cook."

"I done the baking," the girl said hopefully.

"Yeah, I loved your biscuits," JD told her, and blushed before he followed Ezra out through the door.

The streets were dark with early evening, but lively with people. The town of Bernard was an up and coming burg, on the new rail line and eager to attract commerce.

JD and Ezra had traveled overnight to the locale. The judge had sent them on a mission to drop off some important paperwork at the city hall. Their work done, they'd spent the rest of the day at their leisure, and Ezra found a game where they'd spent most of the evening -- much to JD's disappointment. Dunne had been hoping for something a little more exciting.

JD kept stride with Ezra on the boardwalk, ducking and darting to keep from running into anyone. "What if the key opens a treasure chest?" JD asked. "What if it opens a safe? What if it opens a secret cabinet filled with secrets and things like that? What if there are jewels and gold coins and untold riches?"

Ezra looked hungry for a moment, and then glum as he sighed. "We have no idea if we will be able to find the right lock at this shop. There's no telling how long that key has been in that clock. It may have been there many years before it fell into Dunkirk's possession. It probably opens nothing of significance, some old musty keepsake box – empty save for a few dead moth carcasses, but…" and he grinned at JD. "One never knows, and I love a mystery. Especially one that might lead to…" and he licked his lips as he kept striding. "… untold riches."

JD beamed at the thought. "I get half of whatever you get," he said. "It was my idea to go lookin'!"

Ezra chuckled and mumbled, "We'll see about how things are divided." And then he declared, "Ah!" as they came to a little shop, still lit at that hour. They peered into the dusty window. The room was lined with shelves and plumb full of second-hand merchandise. The sign above the store declared the place to be "Lucky Pete's Take it or Leave it."

"This looks like the place," Ezra declared as he put his hand to the door latch. Suddenly, he turned to JD and whispered harshly, "Say nothing about the key."

"Right!" JD replied in a hushed tone and gave Ezra a conspiratorial look. Ezra responded with a roll of the eyes as he opened the door.

"Good day, sir," Ezra called as he strode into the quiet yet crammed store.

A leathery-looking old man, mostly likely Lucky Pete, looked up from his seat at the back of the store. 

"Lovely store," Ezra went on.

"You lookin' for anything in particular?" the old man asked, seeming to hurry them along.

"Not particularly," Ezra said. And then after a moment, "Anything new come in lately?"

"Fella named Dunkirk got killed the other day. He had some good taste. His stuff is over on those tables. But everything I got here is good. Ya'll should take a gander."

"Gander we shall," Ezra responded.

JD turned to Ezra to give him a wink, but thought better of it, and then turned toward the indicated tables. He was stopped when Ezra's hand fell on his arm. "Why don't you go lookin' over there, JD," Ezra said. "No need to crowd this area any further than it already is. You might find something that you need."

JD snorted in annoyance, but when Ezra gave him a glare, he backed off. "Yeah," he said. I could use some new used things, I guess. I'll look around."

Ezra grinned and then turned toward the tables that Lucky Pete had indicated.

JD moved to the other side of the store and started to peruse the shelves of the Take It or Leave It. There was so much to see – every surface was jumbled with cast offs -- the flotsam and jetsam of a world that kept moving on. There were coffee grinders, bellows, stirrups, crystal vases, china plates, tin cups, doilies, seat cushions, empty canning jars, stringy-haired dolls that looked as if they might have been haunted, portraits of unpleasant looking people with eyes that followed you around the room, lids without pots, pots without lids, this that and everything, all in shadow and the glow thrown up from the lanterns that illuminated the place.

"Ezra," JD called as his gaze flashed across something. "Ezra? Come see this!"

Standish appeared at his side almost instantly, his eyes alight in anticipation.

"Did you see this?" JD asked. "It's incredible!”

"What? Behind the snow globe?"

"Snow globe," JD repeated the name as he gingerly touched the article. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Ezra sighed, and then stated instructionally, "It's a newfangled thing. All the rage in France, I've heard. If you pick it up and shake it, snow will appear to fall inside." He didn't look impressed. "Not good for anything but holding papers in place."

JD smiled and grabbed the glass globe with the winter image of a house and trees inside. He tipped it and then set it upright. Then, in amazement, he watched the snow drift inside. "Wow!" JD proclaimed and did it again.

He looked up to Ezra, delighted to share his fascination, but Ezra had already wandered back to the other side of the room. JD mumbled, "I like it anyway." He raised his voice and asked, "How much for the snow globe?"

The man shrugged. "Five cents, I guess."

JD grabbed the knick-knack and kept searching the shelves, picking up anything that looked like it might have a lock. It'd be great if he was the one that found it! Then he could be the one who won the mystery prize.

There was all manner of piffle and gewgaw, but nothing had a lock that matched the pattern on the key.

JD kept looking. He found a soft red blanket that would be perfect for his bed and a dusty watch that seemed to work once it was wound. He needed a new one. Next, he found a leather bag filled with marbles. "I would’ve liked these when I was a kid." He couldn't pass that up. 

There was a clever little travel lamp with a lid that clamped down tightly and enclosed reservoir of oil. It was perfect for his saddlebag so that he could have some light to read his dime store novels. 

Then he saw the squirrel. It stopped him dead in his tracks and he almost shouted for Ezra again – but thought better of it. It might have been real, but the pose was too staged. A gray squirrel waited on the shelf, stuffed and mounted so that it sat on a tiny rocking chair, reading a book and smoking a pipe. So realistic 

Delighted, JD reached for it and pulled it close. 

It was incredible! The taxidermy squirrel looked almost human in its pose. Beady glass eyes seemed to regard him intelligently. Its clenched grimace almost said, “take me with you."

He couldn't leave something like this behind! He piled it on top of his other treasures   
Suddenly, from the back of the store, a tired voice said, " Lamp oil ain’t cheap. I'd like to be closing up soon."

"And so you will!" Ezra responded, sounding triumphant. "Mr. Dunne, I think we've done all the shopping we need to do for one night." He moved on the other side of the shelves. "Let us settle our bill and be off."

"Hey… ah… okay…" JD twisted about with his load, knowing that there was certainly more here to see, but the shop was closing. Maybe they could come back in the morning?

He brought his choices to where the old, impatient-looking man waited.

Ezra appeared with a pretty wooden chest that had been tied up with twine. He looked unimpressed, but JD could see that light of excitement hiding in those eyes.

Standish settled the chest beside JD's pile and froze a moment, noting the rocking chair and squirrel tableau. He gave JD a searching look. Maybe he was hopeful that Dunne would tell him it was all a joke, but JD just returned the gaze with his own earnest expression.

Ezra let out a long-suffering sigh, and then turned to the proprietor. He smiled winningly and asked, "How much?" 

PART 2:

JD hunched on his bed as Ezra cut the twine on the chest. "Think there's gold inside?" JD asked. "Jewelry? Money?"

"Too light," Ezra said unhappily, tossing the twine to the floor. "I fear we'll find little of use to me."

"Might still be something good," JD tried. "Might be just about anything."

"But not gold," Ezra amended, but cocked his head contemplatively, "Still, it is a little thrilling, isn't it? The mystery? The unknown, here are our fingertips. The answers to our questions only seconds away." He rubbed his hands together as the chest waited in his lap. "What do you say we put an end to this and find out what we have?"

"Yeah, unlock it!" JD stated, and then, "Are you sure this is the right lock for that key?"

"See," Ezra pointed out the curly-cues that edged the lock plate. "They obviously go together." As he inserted the key into the lock, he added, "Plus I tried the key in the store. It turned the lock, but I couldn't open the box due to the twine holding it shut."

JD waited impatiently as Ezra unlocked the chest and lifted the lid. They both peered inside to see what mystery was revealed.

JD furrowed his brow in confusion at the inlayed box that was revealed within the chest. He sat back, disappointed. Dunne turned to Ezra, expecting the same, and saw a look he didn't quite understand – it wasn't that sharpness of avarice that sometimes came over the gambler – rather it was a soft and thoughtful expression. 

"Is it something important? Like something really old that you can sell to a museum?" Dunne asked.

"No," Ezra replied. "They make these by the hundreds in Japan. It's a cheap souvenir piece."

"What is it, then?" Dunne asked.

"A Himitsu-Bako. I believe it might be a 6-sun," Ezra said as he quickly pulled out the box and set the chest aside. It was a pretty block – a rectangle all inlayed with wood of different shades. Beautiful geometric designs covered the piece on all sides.

"A 'Him hit what'?"

"Himitsu-Bako," Ezra repeated. "I haven't seen one of these since I was a boy." He handed it to JD with a grin.

"What's it for? A doorstop? No, too light." JD took the block and turned it over in his hands. "A book end? Might be pretty to put on a shelf, right? It's nice…" he tried to sound positive and not be disappointed by the rather pointless end to their mystery - nothing but a block of decorated wood.

"It's a Japanese Puzzle Box," Ezra explained. "You have to know the secret of how to open it – or you just need a lot of time and ingenuity to figure it out on your own."

"Some sort of puzzle?" JD tried, not understanding how a solid piece could be a puzzle. "You've done these puzzles before?"

"Ah, yes." Ezra nodded. "Many an otherwise dull afternoon was spent in an import shop during my youth. I learned the secret of every puzzle that came through her door. It took me days to figure some of them, and the proprietress was patient enough to allow me all the time in the world. I'd be nestled between the shelves, surrounded by trinkets from around the world, in a shop was filled with the scents of camphor and cardamom and coriander. I whiled away at a puzzle until my aunt called me home." He smiled, his expression melancholy.

"Sounds nice enough," JD conceded, but he really would have preferred paying with marbles as a lad.

"Strange thing really," Ezra continued. "The puzzle boxes were never big sellers, but the owner was always bringing in new models. Some boxes must have had 50 different movements, and she always required me to show her how it was done, so that she could demonstrate to her customers." He shook his head. "They should have come with instructions, but she could never find the pages in the shipping crate when the new stock arrived."

JD turned the box around in his hand. The sides were all smooth. There was no sign of a lid or a door or a hinge, and he couldn't pry loose anything. "I don't get it," he mumbled. "Wait, are the designs supposed to mean something? Maybe it's a secret code?" And he squinted at the inlay, seeing nothing but repeating shapes.

Ezra held out a hand and JD passed the block over. After a moment, a slat of wood in the center of one side moved under Ezra's thumb. He pressed the piece over so that it stuck out about an inch. Then, with a little push, he lowered that side of the box a fraction. Standish smiled.

He handed the box back to JD, who tried again. Now knowing what was expected, Dunne was able to find two other movements on the box, but was stymied from going any further. "You want to try it again, Ezra? It'll take all night if it was left to me, and you know the secrets."

Ezra took it back, his smile continuing. He kicked his feet up on the bed, crossing his boots at his ankle. He leaned back on the headboard as he went to work on the box.

JD picked up his snow globe and swirled it to watch the snow drift. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept watch on Ezra. He moved wood pieces one way and then another, sliding a tiny slat to the side, easing the side downward, moving the slat back where it was before, sliding something else in the opposite direction, then moving a tiny piece into the open space he'd just created. He kept working, sometimes having to backtrack to try another series of movements, hardly even noticing that JD was still in the room.

JD waited, watching, holding the snow globe. Ezra worked methodically, quickly mastering the moves. Obviously, he'd played with a similar box before.

Finally, the top of the box slid. Ezra stopped before he totally opened the box. "Here we go," he said. "Ready?"

"Must be something worth all this trouble," JD said hopefully.

"Let us see where our little mystery has led us." And Ezra slid the lid away, revealing the open space beneath – and a packet of letters. 

Ezra stared at the packet, trying not to look disappointed. He glanced up at JD, who said, "Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe there's something good under them?"

Ezra looked doubtful as pulled out the packet to find nothing beneath. 

"I bet there's money inside the envelopes," JD tried. 

Curious, Ezra undid the ribbon and quickly checked through the stack. "They're all addressed to Liam Dunkirk, from a Claire Monroe," he stated, and after he peeked into every envelope, he stated evenly, "Just paper."

"Aw nuts," JD sighed.

Ezra pulled a perfumed sheet from the first letter. "Even worse," he grumbled. "Love letters." With a shake of his head he read, "My Darling Liam, I can still remember the last time we met in the old farm house and you looked so fine, I just wanted to hold you tight. When your lips touched mine and strong arms were tight around me, and I felt like a woman for the first time. And then you took down my…" Ezra cut off with a grimace and stuffed the letter into its envelope.

JD watched as Ezra tied the ribbon around the packet. "Maybe it's not a total loss," Dunne tried. "I could, you know, read the letters if I got bored or something."

"I suppose half do belong to you," Ezra responded. He sighed and continued, "We made acquired some mighty fine things today, of that there is no doubt."

JD couldn't tell if Ezra was being sarcastic or not.

Their purchases amounted to a substantial pile. "It'll do us no good to bring this home by horseback," Ezra said. "We should crate all this and ship it. It can take the morning train to Eagle Bend, so it should be in time to make the weekly freight wagon to Four Corners."

"Yeah," JD said, standing and resting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the items. "Probably a good idea."

"So, why don't you check with the desk clerk and see if he can find a sufficient crate. We can bring it to the station in the morning."

JD nodded as he opened the door, but paused and said, "If you like, you can leave out those letters. Maybe I could read them tonight. They'll pack in my bag easily enough tomorrow."

Ezra smiled and shook his head as he settled the packet into the puzzle box and slid the lid into position. "I think that would be best done in private, Mr. Dunne, in your own room." He flicked a hand. "Hurry now, before the clerk goes to bed for the night." And he began putting the puzzle box back in order.

JD lingered a minute, wondering if he could remember all of the movements needed to reopen the box. Realizing he probably couldn't, he left in search of a crate.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

"Lucky Pete's luck done run out," the shopkeeper said as he leaned over his plate of toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. "Damn shame." He spoke loudly to be heard over the din of the train as it left town.

"Why you say that?" his friend, the blacksmith, responded between forks of fried potatoes. He turned his head, looking annoyed at all the noise.

"Didn't-cha hear? Someone broke into his place last night. Rosco found him in his back room this morning. Place is a shambles. Someone tipped nearly everything off his shelves. Damn shame."

"Lucky Pete's dead?"

"Yeah, he got cut up something bad. Rosco said it looked like they slit his throat to finish him. God rest his soul. His son is real broke up."

The blacksmith sat back in his seat. "Way I hear it, some salesman got stabbed over at the Partridge last night. They found him this morning when the Lucille came up with hot water. Put a hell of a fright into that poor girl. Manager said that that man got cut up, too."

"That little drummer that was headed to Tucson?" the shopkeeper responded incredulously. "He was in my store just yesterday."

"Lucy tells me they tore up the room. Hell of a thing."

"Two people were murdered last night?" The shopkeeper pushed back his breakfast, no longer hungry. "Damn, and then there was that other one last week -- and that business earlier."

"Same people, you think?"

"Hard to say. Probably a gang of no-account young 'uns."

The blacksmith sighed and shook his head dolefully. "Kids these days. They got no respect. Whole town is going to hell. It ain't safe anywhere."

Ezra gave JD a jab in the arm, and said quietly, "We're going."

"I ain't half done yet," JD replied, still working on his plate of flapjacks and sausage.

"Half done is well enough," Ezra told him, grimacing as he paid the tab. "Honestly, Mr. Dunne, you're going to have to start earning a decent living someday. I can't be the one covering your bill all the time."

"I can pay for myself, Ezra. Just give me a minute to get my money together and…"

But Ezra was already moving, heading toward the door.

"This ain't fair," JD sputtered as he forked up a big chunk of syrupy flapjacks and jammed them in his mouth. Annoyed, he grabbed the last sausage and followed.

Ezra was already outside and headed toward their hotel. The morning train was headed out – smudging the gray sky with black smoke.

JD pointed with a sausage link. "This ain't a way to treat a man who's tryin' to eat!" he garbled through his pancakes.

Ezra stopped short and swung JD with him until their backs were flat against the front wall of the restaurant. "Did you hear what those men were discussing?"

"Yeah, Lucky Pete and some salesman both were killed last night. It's a sad thing and all, but…"

"Both of whom had been in contact with us last night. Both of whom also had been in possession of at least one of our mystery items."

JD slowed in his chewing and a little mongrel sidled near him, angling for the sausage. "You think someone's interested in those things? Like interested enough to kill for them?" he asked. "There was nothing but love letters in that box."

"So it appeared but…" Ezra rubbed his face in annoyance. "We… I didn't truly check the envelopes. There's no telling what else might have been contained in them. Perhaps there was a message."

"Must have been a reason to secret them so hard," JD completed. The little white and black dog whimpered and sat down beside him. It pawed at his pant leg.

"And since Mr. Dunkirk, the previous owner of these items, also recently died, I am suspecting that the cause of his death must have also been suspicious."

"They murdered him, too?" JD whispered. "Dang it, Ez. We'd better do something." The dog begged, lifting its front paws preciously. It might have been some form of rat terrier.

"What we'd better do is get out of town," Ezra replied.

"But…"

"If Lucky Pete told them that he sold one of Dunkirk's belongs to Jenkins, then it stands to reason that they know that we have another. It's also quite possible that they know who currently holds the clock because there were many witnesses to the exchange in the Rose last night. If we hadn't changed rooms at the hotel yesterday, our awakening might not have been so quiet this morning."

"We have to stop them. These men are killing people. We got to do something about it."

"We have to stop them from killing us." Ezra replied. "They are apparently after some specific possessions of Mr. Dunkirk, and we have them. The best way to avoid joining that sad group of the recently deceased is to get out of town, now."

"The crate!" JD exclaimed, and then slammed his hands over his mouth as he realized he'd spoken too loudly. The sausage flew and the dog leaped after it, snatching it mid-air.

Ezra shook his head. "The crate just left town on that train -- unless someone knew to look for it." He frowned. "The shipping information would be easy to check for our names."

"I put Chris' name on the label," JD said with a smile.

The look that Ezra turned on him was pure and proud, and he smiled at the young man as he gently laid a hand on JD's shoulder. The dog returned and sat beside young Dunne. It thumped its tail against the boardwalk as it looked up at JD in love.

"Mr. Dunne, that is excellent news. The items are out of the way and on their journey to safekeeping. We should be on our way as well. Get the horses, JD. I'll send a quick message to Mr. Larabee, and then get our bags from our room. The sooner we leave this town, the better."

 

JD nodded as Ezra pushed off the wall. JD watched Ezra for a moment as he started toward the telegraph office, and then he turned as well and jogged toward the livery with the little dog at his heels.

 

PART 3: 

Ezra's boots beat a staccato on the stairs as he returned to their room, his mind abuzz with what they'd learned that morning. 

What did he have in that clock or chest that was worth killing for? 

He'd seen nothing in the envelopes aside from pages of letters. He had missed something. Did the love letters reveal more than just sordid details? Did the clock contain other secrets in its works? He damned himself for not investigating the evidence while it was still in his hands.   
He should have let JD have his light reading.

He quickly unlocked the hotel room, determined to grab their bags and rush to meet young Dunne. Thank goodness they were already packed.

He swung the door open.

Not already packed --- clothing was strewn over the floor, mattresses were overturned, a lamp was smashed on the floor, its oil leaking into the wood. He froze for only a second – but that was too long.

Something slammed into his head.

Ezra staggered, falling heavily to the floor. He blinked, desperate to clear his head as someone came at him.

Instinctively, he swept his legs around, connecting with his opponent's ankles. The man went down hard, grunting and swearing. Ezra clambered to his feet and made a grab for the dark-haired man. Someone else grasped him, pinning his arms and pulling him fully upright.   
Ezra slammed his head back, making his already aching head ring, but the accompanying grunt and "Son of a bitch!" from his attacker was satisfying.

The hold loosened and he pulled away with a donkey kick, connecting with a rather sensitive part of his attacker. The man screeched and the grip was entirely released, but Ezra didn't have time to reach his weapon as the first assailant slammed one fist into his jaw and the other into his stomach.

Ezra went down to his knees, heaving as he tried to breathe. Stars swarmed his dimmed vision. His hand clasped the Remington, but the first man – tall and black-haired, with a narrow, ugly face, pressed the barrel of a gun to Ezra's forehead. "Drop it," he ordered, his voice thick and oily.

Ezra did as he was told.

"That other one, too!" The man pointed with his gun to the Colt that was tucked in the holster under Ezra's arm.

With a sigh, Ezra complied and the dark-haired man quickly scooped up the weapons.

"Raise 'em!"

Ezra lifted his hands, trying to blink away the blackness. He could still trigger the derringer, but it would do little good in this position – not with two of them and a gun pointed at his forehead.

"Where is it, you stinkin' son of a bitch?" the second man growled as he staggered around to face Standish. The man was blond, and a bit shorter than the first man. He might have been called handsome at one point in his life, but his newly broken, and profusely bleeding nose, wasn't going to help his looks any. "Tell me, Standish, where is it?"

Ezra flinched at the sound of his own name, knowing he was in grave trouble. "Who the hell are you?" Ezra asked bluntly, "Seein' as how you know me, perhaps we should be better acquainted?"

The blond man's expression darkened, and too quickly for Ezra to do anything about it, he slammed a fist just above his eye, snapping his head to one side. "Get your goddamn face up!" he snarled as Ezra bowed and hissed in pain.

"I guess this means I'm not gettin' any answer," Ezra said with a little chuckle, slowly raising his head to meet the man's gaze.

The blond yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, held it to his bleeding nose, and repeated the question, "Where is it, you stupid bastard?"

An apt description, Ezra thought, knowing it was his own fault for getting into this situation. He tried to calculate the odds of fighting his way out. The odds weren't good.

"Talk, Standish!" the blond gritted out, moving uncomfortably. "Where did you put it?"

Ezra cleared his throat and stated, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The blond looked as if his head was about to boil off with rage. He grabbed Ezra by his shirtfront, dragging him to his feet. "Where the hell are those things you got yesterday?"

"Things?" Ezra tried. "You mean the blanket? The little bauble with the snow? Marbles?" He seemed to ponder it. "I hope you're not talking about the squirrel, because…"

The blond slugged him and Ezra's knees buckled again. He gasped and somehow managed to keep upright.

"You need to be taught some respect," the assailant snarled.

"And you need a new nose. I think I came out better in that bargain," Ezra replied glibly, and was rewarded with another fist to the belly.

Ezra regretted having biscuits and gravy for breakfast and he struggled to breathe.

"The clock! The god-damned clock and chest!" the ugly man screamed, keeping the gun at Ezra's forehead. "They're the only things we haven't found, and we know you got 'em. We need what's inside!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ezra responded, but when Blondie drew back to deliver another blow, Ezra seemed to brighten a little. "Oh! The clock! Amazing timepiece. And the chest. It was lovely. I hated parting with them, but the price was right and what could I do? I hadn't planned on keeping them in the first place. They're hardly right for me, far too gaudy. I am not a gaudy man. My style is perfection."

"What?" Ugly barked.

"I sold them," Ezra explained, "last night, and for a good price, too."

Ugly and Blondie both looked annoyed and disgusted. "Sold them? Damn it!" Ugly whined.

"To who?" Blondie snapped. "Who bought them?"

"There was a fellow in the hotel lobby," Ezra spun the tale as he tried to get control of his aching head and belly. "I don't believe he was a guest, rather he was there to meet with someone. Tall man, nearly as tall as you, sir, but with not so fine features. He was a businessman, involved in land speculation I believe. He was investigating some land sales in these parts and was hot on purchasing some acreage for himself. He had his eye on a house for sale out yonder, and was about to bring his family along to fill it. He was looking for some ornaments for his new home, to surprise his wife."

"What's his name!" Blondie ordered. 

"Abernathy," Ezra immediately responded. "Or Ainsworth, or maybe it was Anderson. I'm not certain, I'm horrible with names. His first name was Donald, of that I'm certain. Or maybe it was David. I always get those names confused."

Ugly's gun lowered. He seemed to realize what he was doing and raised it again, his hand shaking. "Where is he?" the gunman demanded. "Tell me where to find him."

"He probably left town this morning. Headed westward to meet up with his family, I believe. If you hurry, you can catch him," Ezra smiled hopefully.

Ugly seemed to believe him and was ready to follow this mysterious man out into the desert, but Blondie wasn't biting.

"Get them," Blondie growled.

"Come again?" Ezra responded.

"Follow this Ainsworth or whatever he is, and get the clock and chest! Bring them back to me or else…"

"Or else what?" Ezra asked, because obviously if they allowed him to go, he would no longer be in their clutches.

"Or else we kill the kid," Blondie said, and he smiled as Ezra's face went blank. "We got him before he reached the livery. You get that clock and that chest back from that fella, bring them both to me – with everything in them – and we won't kill JD Dunne."

The use of the kid's name drove the situation home. Ezra's eyes darted as he took in the information. "Now," he said. "Why should I believe you have him in your care?"

The blond looked smug and pulled something from his gun belt. He flung a crushed bowler hat at him.

"Ah," Ezra responded. He swallowed and continued, "Very well. I will do my level best to retrieve the items you requested—with everything in them. It might take some time to get my hands on…"

"You have until 3 o'clock," Blondie said. "Bring them back by then, and we won't hurt him. At three, we'll we start cutting off fingers, breaking bones, slicing him up bit by bit."

Ezra felt cold at those remarks, remembering what he’d heard in the restaurant that morning. These men were capable of such horrors.

Blondie looked absolutely delighted, his face macabre with the blood still dripping from his broken nose. Ugly just looked ugly.

"A little more time would be appreciated," Ezra tried.

"Three!" Blonde barked, "And if you're not back, we'll start parting him out."

He drew back one foot, but Ezra saw it coming and let his knees fold. The sudden weight twisted Blondie and he missed his mark as Ezra went down. Instead of kicking their captive in the groin, Blondie was jerked to one side and almost fell with Standish.

Ugly caught Blondie with one hand, saving his partner from a spill, but the sudden misstep made Blondie howl and clutch his bruised privates in agony. He drew back a foot as if he again intended to kick Standish, but stopped with a gasp and gave up on the idea. "Three!" he shouted to the curled Standish. "3 o'clock! Or the boy suffers for your mistakes!"

And the two men left the room – one striding long steps, the other shuffling.

The door slammed and Ezra uncurled, his stomach still roiling from the abuse, his jaw and head sparking with pain. His face felt swollen and certainly one of his eyes was blackened.

"That went well," he murmured, and then pulled himself to his feet, groaning and grumbling at the pains that caught him. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, feeling where his teeth had torn his cheek and then checking to see if his gold tooth was still in place – at least he had some luck there.

Thankfully, there was no mirror in the room. He really didn't want to see what his face looked like at that moment.

He leaned against one of the disheveled beds and pulled his watch from his pocket. It was just past 9 am. He and JD had been up early to get started for home – it was a two-day trip and they had wanted to cover most of the ground on the first day.

That gave him six hours to get the clock and the chest, and bring them back by 3pm. At least they hadn't decided on the more clichéd 'high noon'. They were probably hoping to catch the afternoon train out of town.

The train – the crate was on the morning train. How in the world was he going to get it back in time to save JD? The freight wagon wasn't going to get to Four Corners until tomorrow – and it would be a hard day's ride to make it to Eagle Bend if he wanted to pick it up there.

Perhaps he should just try to find Dunne and rescue him without bringing in the requested items? Might be simpler? But there had to be a minimum of three men involved – the two that had attacked him – and at least one left to watch JD, possibly more.

And he had no idea where they'd taken JD.

He needed that crate. The crate was on the train.

The train – after leaving the town of Bernard -- had four stops before reaching Eagle Bend. It would stop in White Rock for about 30 minutes to take on water and coal, to let the passengers stretch their legs. Then it would head to Happy Home.

The train had left the station in Bernard only a short time ago.

If he had a fast horse – he could catch the train before it left White Rock. White Rock wasn't far.   
Ezra looked up from his watch as he calculated the timing. He could do this.

He started to leave the room, ready to get Chaucer and fly, when he paused.

They would be looking for him. Ugly, Blondie and whoever else was working with them would be waiting for him. If they wanted these items so badly, would they allow him to fetch them alone? Of course, they'd want to shadow him.

He moved toward the window, leaned against one wall and cautiously peered out. Blondie was across the street, pressed against a roof support, looking uncomfortable and holding a handkerchief to his nose, watching the front door of the hotel.

Ezra had no doubts that Ugly was currently stationed at the livery, watching their horses.

He didn't want these men following him. What would stop them from reneging on the deal and killing JD if they had their prize? They'd already killed three men. The only thing stopping them from finishing off young Dunne was the hope of getting what they wanted.

Lord, if any harm had already come to JD, he would never forgive himself.

Without any clear plan, he left the room and headed into the hallway, and then down the back stairway that led to the privies. He winced as he moved, damning his stupidity at letting them catch him so unprepared, damning his stupidity at letting them catch JD.

He glanced through the back door and, finding no one waiting, moved quickly past the privies and through a narrow alley to the next row of buildings, wondering how he would be able to cut over to the livery, and gain entry (and exit) from it without being seen.

He stopped when he reached the next street. He stopped and stared.

Standing at the hitching post, just outside the bathhouse was a thoroughbred stallion of heart-breaking beauty. It was a deep gray, almost black, well-muscled, gorgeously built. It stood with grace and it arched its neck as if knew just how perfect a creature it was.

Ezra would bet on that horse in any race. He'd bet everything he owned. This horse was a winner. This horse was built for speed. Its stance told him of its endurance. The way it held its head told that it had all the confidence in the world.

Ezra didn't move. Only his eyes scanned one way, and then another. No one was watching – not really.

Stealing a horse was a hanging offence – and someone would definitely miss this one – but time was wasting and JD was in trouble. He had to move -- he had a train to catch.

 

PART 4:   
Scenery flew past as the big horse galloped. The stallion moved like lightning, its hooves tearing up the distance. Ezra rode low over its neck, feeling the power of the animal. 

It ran like it was born to run. It moved as if it lived to race, as if a full-out gallop was the only way to move. It was in love with its abilities, its speed, its beauty. Ezra hung on for the ride. 

Soil crunched beneath hooves. The horse breathed in great huffs. Wind whipped past Ezra's head and he was glad he’d lost his hat in the room, because it would definitely be gone now. 

The train tracks strung out beside them, leading them to White Rock. Homesteads rocketed past as they kept their speed. Men stopped in their fields and stared. Boys whipped off their hats and wahooed as the horse streamed past. Women stood on front porches, clutching their aprons as they watched the perfect horse rush past with its tagalong rider.

Ezra hardly saw the observers. He saw only the silver dual lines of the rails. He heard only the great breath from the horse’s bellow lungs and the rhythmic clump-clump of its hooves on the packed soil. He felt the stallion's great energy as it ran.

God, it was fun!

He grinned as much as his battered jaw allowed and he kept one eye narrowed against the wind. The other eye was mostly swollen shut so it hardly mattered.

The horse ate up the miles.

White Rock! It wasn't far. He could see it! The little collection of business and houses sprouted alongside the track – and there – the plume of steam from the train, still waiting at the station.

"Ha!" he shouted, "Ha!" He dug his heels into the horse's side and it put on more speed. It was wet with sweat, but its pace had hadn't slowed, it hardly seemed to tire. This was one fine god-damned magnificent beautiful horse.

"Almost there," he crooned. "Just get me to White Rock and…. Hell!"

The train, that had been sitting and steaming so peacefully, suddenly belched a huge cloud of smoke. A shrill whistle reached him a second later.

"No, no, no!" Ezra whined. "No, you can't leave!"

The horse kept its furious pace. They were getting closer. The whistle sounded again and the whole train lurched forward and then lurched again.

"No!" Ezra moaned, and dug in his heels once more.

The horse had finally begun to slack its pace, but with the encouragement, it sped forward. The train jerked one more time and started moving.

"I will not miss this train!" Ezra promised.

Well-wishers on the platform waved at their departing loved ones, joined by townspeople who had nothing else better to do. One child in a blue kerchief turned her head and saw him coming. She stared.

The big horse flew, charging into White Rock, scattering chickens and children as it tore toward the station.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" Ezra encouraged. "We have to catch it!"

The train slowly picked up speed as it left the town.

The horse and rider shot past the station, and everyone shouted in surprise, except the girl with the blue kerchief, who smiled and jumped about excitedly.

He was gaining – he was nearly to the quickening train. The horse kept up its insane speed.

"Almost there," Ezra said through gritted teeth. "Almost there, my friend."

They were nearly astride the train! They were there! Ha! They'd caught it! Ezra smiled in triumph as the horse came alongside with the last car. "Closer now, my friend. Don't fail me."   
The horse shied, unsure of the noise and the terrain near the tracks.

"Closer, closer," Ezra urged, directing the horse with his knees almost as much as the reins. "Closer now." They moved to the cattle car.

He was insane. He knew it.

A ladder came into reach. "Closer now. Just a little closer."

The train was moving faster. His horse wasn't going to last much longer. He reached out – his hand missing the rung.

He kneed the horse again and reached – reached and --- 

The moment his hand grasped the rung, he felt the horse turn beneath him. He let go of the reins and pulled his feet from the stirrups. Suddenly, he was hanging – one handed – to the rung on the side of a cattle car

He banged noisily against the car – sending up a panic of moos from within. He twisted, making his bruised torso scream and he nearly lost his grip. The magnificent stallion slowed to a trot. It stopped, its sides heaving with the hard run, and Ezra spun about, trying to get a better hold on the ladder and not pop his shoulder out of joint again. 

His boots clanged and he was battered in the rush, but he managed to get his other hand on the ladder and finally his feet. Breathlessly, he hung on, turning his head to watch the horse that still stood by the side of the tracks. It looked small in the growing distance.

He hoped it was okay. He'd hate it if he caused the magnificent beast any harm. It would be a crime against nature.

The cattle car put out a terrible stench, and Ezra grimaced, noting the manure that coated the sides of it. Inside the car, a long tongue lashed out, lapping his face, surprising him so much, he almost lost his grip.

As he kept his head turned toward the stallion, horsemen rode out from the town – probably chasing after the strange horse that had charged through their town. They wouldn't catch the train. Not with those nags. At least, one of them could take the stallion back to town. It wasn't the type of animal that someone would ignore. They'd care for it, certainly. Thank God.

The cow still licked at him, seeming delighted to have a something tasty to smooch and Ezra cringed away. She breathed heavily, her breath sweet with hay. Otherwise, the cattle car stank something awful, and he was alarmed as one of his cow's neighbors did something foul in his direction. 

He leaned back as far as he dared to get out of reach. 

He was out of breath, with his head throbbing, his belly aching, his shoulder pained him – not out of joint but the damn thing always gave him trouble when he abused it. The swaying cows put up a chorus of moos, while his admirer kept trying to taste him. 

As he leaned back, letting the air whip past his head, he laughed, unable to stop himself. "I caught a train!" he shouted into the wind.

Then, chuckling, Ezra rubbed his sore and now moist face against his less sensitive shoulder. It was time to get moving again. 

"M'lady," he said to the hopeful-looking cow, "I regret that I must leave you now." He started up the ladder. The rich, unpleasant smell of fresh manure wafted around him. 

One cow watched his progress with a disappointed expression as he moved to the roof. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

Ezra paused on the top of the cattle car, warily looking to make sure that no railway men emerged to force him off their train. Thankfully, no one appeared.

The train clattered down the tracks, on the way to Happy Home. It would be some time before they reached that destination, a further run than the last. The wind on top of the car was tremendous, and Ezra held on, afraid it might tear him from the car. He took a moment to assess his latest damages, finding his jacket and trousers were now filthy with cow manure, and his sleeve was badly ripped.

He raised himself into a crouch and started toward the opposite end of the cattle car, moving as quickly as he dared. The last thing he wanted to do was take a fall from a train moving at speed.   
His plan had been to get the crate off the train in White Rock, and bring the items back, along with the horse. Missing that opportunity, he'd have to ride to Happy Home, pick up the crate at that stop, and come back on the next train. It would be simple enough, but the timing would be close.

He just needed to make it to the next passenger car, find his way in, pay the conductor for a seat, and he'd be nearly done.

The car in front of the cattle car was a boxcar. He wondered how far he'd have to go to reach a comfortable seat. He climbed down the near ladder, avoiding the gaze from those doleful eyes that peered out at him, and then regarded the hitch that connected the two cars.

It clattered and shook and put up a tremendous noise as the train rattled the tracks.

Well, he thought, here goes nothing. He made the jump over the cacophonous connector, catching the ladder on the next car and then, quickly, he climbed to the top of the boxcar -- and into the wind again.

Not at all comfortable. The day was cool, and he had no desire to remain out in the weather.   
The boxcar had two trap doors in the roof. If he could just slip through one of those and find a place to sit, it would be easier than traversing any further cars – the up and down and across was going to kill him if he kept it up.

He stepped onto the top of the car and hunched his way along it until he reached the first trap door. Tired of the wind beating at his head, he pulled open the trap and leaned in.

He smiled.

The car was only partially full with boxes and bags – mail bags and boxes with shipping labels. "Perfect!" he crowed, and leaving the door open for light, he swung his legs into the hole, and then dropped in. 

The mail car! He couldn't have been luckier!

It was too dim to see much of anything, so he opened the big sliding door on the side, letting in a flood of light along with the sound of the wind and the rails, the sight of the landscape flashing past. He smiled as he stood by the open door, darn proud of himself. Who would have thought he could accomplish so much?

With a light step, he went about the business of finding the crate that he'd packed the previous night.

It shouldn't have gone too far. He shifted a few boxes, until he found the familiar box.

"Excellent," he declared, and pulled out his watch. Yes, this would all time out perfectly for him. He'd make the return train from Happy Home to Bernard and they'd be done with this mess.

He was going to save JD! The miscreants could have the clock and chest. What did he care?   
And his brow furrowed as he wondered what exactly they were after. What was contained in those letters? What was so important that three men had died? Why had they threatened the life of JD?

What if they hurt that boy? What if they'd already done what they threatened and that poor young man was suffering, tortured by those men?

It was his fault, Ezra knew. He was the one that acquired the clock and the chest, putting the killers on their trail; he was the one that missed the clues, and he was the one that sent the evidence away.

What if JD was already dead?

The train wouldn't reach Happy Home for at least an hour. The least he could do is check through the letters again, and see if he could figure this out. Maybe the information could help him save JD – get him out of this horrible mess.

Ezra dragged the crate closer to the door so that he could clearly see, and he bent to pry open the lid

"Hold it right there!" a voice called from above.

With a groan, Ezra stopped his work and looked up. A man, dressed in railway uniform, leaned through the opening in the ceiling. He pointed a pistol at Ezra's chest.

Further down, the other trap door opened on the ceiling and a second man shouted, "Don't move!"

"As you wish," Ezra replied, smiling as he raised his hands. "I wasn’t harming anything here."

"You got on outside of White Rock, didn't ya?" A man with long, light-brown hair accused. He dropped down while his partner covered him. He was lithe and thin and had a deadly cast to his gaze. "You boarded the train illegally!"

"Only because I was late to the station," Ezra said amiably. He kept the box between himself and the men, putting his back to the open boxcar door so that they couldn't get in behind him. He could feel the wind whip past his back. "I would have purchased a ticket if I was able, but the train had already left. What's a man to do?" He shrugged.

The other man dropped to the floor as well, and both approached, weapons raised.

"Don't look like the type that aims to pay," the second man said – shorter and rounder than the first, he was nearly bald. "Looks like a bum, a low life piece of scum. A hobo!"

"A bum?" Ezra echoed, feeling maligned. "Hobo? Surely, you jest." And then he remembered his current state.

"Smells like hell," the bald man added. "Christ, what have you been rolling in?"

"Not good fortune, apparently," Ezra responded. Quickly, he went on, "I will pay my ticket. If you allow me?" he nodded to his pocket. "I have the cash right here." And Ezra's face fell as he realized that the pocket had been ripped out – his bankroll gone.

Damn it! Why hadn't he secured the money in his boot?

"Right," said the short one.

"Don't move!" said the other. "Get away from that box!"

Ezra puzzled, "How can I not move and yet move away from the box at the same time? If you can explain that, I will do my best to comply."

"Don't act smart!" said the thin man.

"Again, I will try," Ezra responded, and muttered, "But it is hard for me to avoid that."

"Get away from that box!" the man repeated.

"But it's mine," Ezra said holding his smile and looking as innocent as possible. "I can show you." But as he picked it up, he remembered the name that JD had used. "I'm Chris Larabee," he said with as much conviction as he could.

The thin man's face twisted. "You ain't Chris Larabee," he accused. "You ain’t nothin’ like him!"

"We know about Chris Larabee!" the portly one added, "He's a leader, someone a fella can look up to with pride. Not like you." Baldy shook his head, looking disgusted. "You're just at penniless, no-account gambler who can't even afford to get his clothing cleaned and doesn't know when to duck when someone swings at him."

Ezra tried to keep up a pleasant-looking demeanor.

"What happened, Lucky?" the long-haired man stared, "You get in trouble at the tables back there in White Rock? They rough you up and toss you out? Serves you right."

"Folks of White Rock don't need trash like you," Baldy continued. "Probably kicked you out of town quick as they could. Can't be trusted! Then, you thought you could jump our train and steal our freight? It ain't going to happen. We don't cotton to freeloading crap like you."

Ezra opened his mouth to refute the accusations, but slammed it shut when the thin man shouted, "Keep your goddamn mouth shut! You ain't got nothin' to say that anyone wants to hear."

Ezra raised his eyebrows in silent appeal.

"It's time you got off our train," the bald one said.

Ezra sighed. "If I may? As soon as we get to Happy Home, I'll be more than happy to comply."

"Get off," the bald one repeated. "Now."

Ezra glanced over his shoulder at the scenery that screamed past the open door. "I can hardly do so now. Maybe if we stop for a crossing or…"

"Now," Baldy said again.

"How do you expect…?" Ezra tried to ask.

Skinny cut him off. "Get off the way you got on."

"But the horse, it's long gone." Ezra told them, trying to bargain, "I will leave immediately if we come to a place where we…"

"Shut the hell up, you stupid Reb bastard," Skinny barked. "We're done with you. Lou?" he said, glancing to his partner.

Lou gave a tight nod, and both men charged him at once.

Ezra, encumbered by the box, had no choice, no way to fight them, no defense. He tried to steel himself, to resist, but they came at him as a team, well-planned, they'd done this before. They slammed into him from two different angles.

Helpless, Ezra flew backward through the open boxcar door and into the tumbling world outside.

 

PART 5: 

Time slowed as Ezra released the crate and tucked himself into a ball, ready for the brutal contact of earth – but instead, he flew. He caught sight of trestle, trees and – water.

He hit the surface like a cannonball. He shut his eyes and his mouth before he was enveloped, but there was no time to draw in a deep breath. He plunged deep, and he let his body splay out to slow his progress. Then, he started kicking.

The pressure of the water hurt his ears, and when he opened his one good eye underwater, the surface and the light seemed far above him. His lungs burned. He kicked harder, desperate to reach the air.

If nothing else, the cold water felt good on his aches.

He broke surface and sucked in a deep draught. A river -- he was in a river. He treaded water as he gazed up to the trestle. Thank God it wasn't that tall – he'd fallen maybe 30 feet. It felt like it was a lot further.

The train was gone.

"Lovely," he muttered and started swimming toward the shore before the river could carry him any further.

He staggered up the bank, feeling absolutely exhausted and beat to hell. He was soaking wet, cold, and he'd lost the train, his bankroll and the crate. And it wasn't even a warm day – he shivered in the chill.

Hell and Damnation! 

What was he supposed to do now?

But the crate had left the train with him. He'd released it only after he'd been shoved out. It had to be nearby. He staggered along the bank of the river, searching, hoping.

Unable to find it by the river's edge, he moved up to the level of the train track where he surveyed the area and checked out the trestle.

Nothing.

A glance to the river disheartened him. When he plunged into the waterway, he hadn't touched bottom. The river was deep. If the crate had fallen into the water, he'd have a hell of a time bringing it back up. It hadn't been floating near him, so most likely it was deep in the river.

He trudged to the water's edge.

With a groan, he sat down on the rocky bank, in the shade of a big oak, and pulled off his boots. He tipped them, dumped out water. Next, came his jacket – torn, sopping wet, but at least clean of manure and the stench– thank the Lord for small favors.

He frowned, finding his derringer rig empty. He'd lost his last weapon at some point, either in jumping on the train or falling off it.

Damn. 

He retrieved the watch from his waistcoat pocket, frowning at how it dripped. He held it to his ear and sighed. He gave it a shake, sending water flying. 

Now he couldn't even know if he was on time or not.

Tired as hell and hurt, he drew up his knees. He closed his eyes, and leaned back, resting back on his elbows.

Just need to relax for a moment, just a moment's peace.

Alright, stop stalling. It's time to get back into that water. Time to search the river bottom! JD is counting on you!

With a sigh, he opened his eyes.

The crate almost winked at him – nestled directly above him, in the crook of the tree, on the same level as the trestle.

"Well," Ezra said with a sigh. "Here we go." 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

The tree was a son of a bitch! Laden with thorny vines and loaded with diseased branches that cracked when weight was placed on them, Ezra barely survived the ordeal.

Scraped and scratched and cut and sore from half a dozen near-falls, Ezra finally touched earth, swearing to never venture into a tree again.

Shivering, he rubbed his arms fretfully and lamented the ruin of a perfectly good shirt – trousers – waistcoat and a good portion of his skin.

"Someone should burn this menace to the ground!" he growled and limped to the crate that lay in pieces near the trunk.

He swiped at the blood that dripped into his good eye as he dragged the remains of the crate out of the shadow of the horrible devil tree – and up to the level of the train track. His shoulder still felt like hell. His jaw still hurt. His eye still ached.

Hell of a day.

He didn't know the exact time, but the return train was still hours away. He had to wait, and that time could be put to use.

He easily pried off the shattered top of the crate and pulled out JD's blanket. It had cushioned the contents remarkably well and it appeared that all was intact inside. Even the snow globe had survived.

With a grateful sigh, Ezra spread the blanket and sat down on it. He drew the rest of it up around his shoulders, and he finally stopped shaking.

He pulled the other items out of the way, careful to set the squirrel so that the rocking chair was upright. When he found JD’s watch, he regarded it for a moment before he set it to the time that was on his drowned watch, adding what he felt was enough minutes to account for what had passed since he hit the water.

It would have to do. He needed to make it back to Bernard on time.

Then, he pulled out the chest, and drew the key from his vest pocket – glad he hadn't lost it in the river. He unlocked the chest and withdrew the puzzle box.

He quickly went through the motions needed to open it, familiar with the steps now, and slid back the lid to reveal the packet of letters within.

"What is your story?" he asked. "What is so important?"

He undid the ribbon and picked up the first letter, ready to read it word by word in search of a clue. But he thought again, and instead began his search through all the envelopes. 

He'd missed something the first time and put JD in peril – but he wouldn't fail again. 

As he paged through the contents – one thing caught his eye – one set of pages were different than the others. The paper was coarser, the writing was rougher – more masculine –written by a different hand. 

Satisfied, Ezra set aside the other letters and opened the one set of pages that were different from all the others, and started to read: 

"My Darling Claire: 

If you are reading this, then something evil has befallen me. You have received my letter telling you to await this parcel, and you remembered the secrets that I showed you about the clock and the puzzlebox. 

I am sorry, my love, but I have done something horrible and deserve the bad that has come to me. I wish I never had to tell you this tale but there are men that should be punished for their deeds. Give this letter to the authorities and they'll see that these men get what's due them. 

My love, I never meant to cause any harm to anyone. It all just happened so fast. Last month three men came to me and asked me about the stagecoach. Sometimes I ride shotgun from Bernard to Gravel Lake and sometimes it carries a lot of money. They had lots of questions for me. I got curious and they told me if I kept quiet I'd get paid a lot of money. 

All I had to do was get the stage to stop at a certain place along the route and then I was to make sure that those men did not get hurt. I was to sit still and not shoot. I didn't know that they were evil man. I did like they asked, and did nothing as they gunned down everyone on the stage, even the women. I will never forgive myself for not moving, for not stopping them. It tears my heart to even write this. I am a coward. 

It wasn't about the money then, my darling. I would have paid anything to make them stop. I was scared. I was scared about what they'd do to me. I am not a man worthy of your love. 

I know I will hang with them when this comes to light, but I fear I will not live that long. I have to make them pay. Each person took a little money from the robbery and put the rest away until the trouble blows over. There is a lot of money, my darling. I took all that was hidden and I put it elsewhere, where those men will never find it. Those devils will earn nothing from their deeds. 

The money is at the old farm where we dallied before you went away to care for your Auntie. Do you remember the windmill? The tower is all that is left of it now. The old house has burned, but you should remember where to find it. There is a cave that was used as a cellar, just north of that old mill. You can find it all there.

The men who did this are as follows: Marvin Harris, Joe Darrow and Gareth Fulshear. They all did the killing at that stagecoach and I'm afraid they have done more before. I am afraid about what they'll do me when they find that the money is gone, but I can't let them prosper. 

I cannot tell our local law because I believe that Sheriff Wardlow is also involved in these bad dealings. He is the one that told them to talk to me, and some of the money was put aside with his name. 

I have no one to turn to. 

Do not feel sorry for me, my love, for I am a coward and deserve what comes to me. You deserve better. Please keep your letters to me as a remembrance that you once loved me, that I was once a good man. Give this note to a good and honest man who will do what is right. 

I love you forever,

Liam" 

Ezra did nothing immediately when he finished the letter. He sat beneath the blanket under the leaden sky and thought about what he'd just read. No wonder those men wanted to find this letter. He had their names. Now, he just had to get the information to a good and honest man who could do something about it. 

Marvin Harris, Joe Darrow and Gareth Fulshear must have intercepted the note that Liam Dunkirk had originally sent to Claire Monroe, must have found the notation that said certain items were to be shipped to his sweetie. 

Somehow the shipment never occurred. Sheriff Wardlow might have had something to do with that. 

Ezra sniffled, feeling tired, and cold and sore and battered and wet and miserable. The returning train was still hours away and he'd have to run it down when it came – if he could. It would be his luck that Skinny and Baldy would be on the return run. He had no money and was even more pathetic looking than before. 

He blew out a breath. Well, he'd just have to deal with that when the time came. He had a bad feeling that Harris, Darrow and Fulshear wouldn't wait long, these men were quite capable of doing whatever it took to get what they wanted – and they had JD.  
.   
And the local sheriff was in their pocket. 

The wait was going to take forever and the timing was too close for him to feel comfortable. There had to be another way, and he scanned the distance as if something might suddenly appear to help him. 

Providence provided. 

Something moved, coming parallel to the river. Ezra squinted, trying to make out what it might be. Not a horse, but somewhat the same size. He could spot a rider, sitting high. But the animal perplexed him.

Definitely not a horse. Its movements were all wrong. It was entirely the incorrect shape.   
He stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he stared out at the approaching vision, and then he shook his head sharply as it came clear. 

An apparition, a hallucination, a mirage. 

Impossible! 

The shape stopped, and the rider looked toward him, apparently drawn by the colorful blanket. Ezra raised an arm, drawing the blanket with it, fanning out the cloth like a flag. The distant shape suddenly lurched toward him, moving faster. 

Ezra dropped his arm, pulling the blanket close as he watched it come nearer. 

Can't be!

He kept his gaze narrow as he tried to dissuade himself of the possibility that a camel – a dromedary camel -- was suddenly galloping toward him across the desert territory of the southwest United States.

 

PART 6: 

The boy gazed down at him from his saddle atop the camel's hump and Ezra stepped back, unsure of the look the creature aimed in his direction. It looked as if it wanted to spit at him, and it smelled downright awful. 

The camel towered over him, unimpressed. 

"You okay, mister?" the boy asked. 

"I have been better," Ezra admitted. 

The kid scrunched up his face. "Been hit pretty bad, huh?" he said. "My eye swoll up like that once when my sister come after me for takin' her lead soldiers. She's powerful strong. She clobbered me good." 

"Nothing quite so harsh happened to me," Ezra told him. 

"Your clothes all tore up too, and wet! Ma would have my skin if I come home like that." 

"It sounds like your family is not one to be trifled with," Ezra responded. 

"You ain't lyin'! What you doin' out here, mister," the boy drawled. "Ain't a good place for nothin'. Ya ain't tryin' to fish here, are ya?" 

"No, not fishing," Ezra responded. "Not fishing for anything outside of a ride." 

"A ride?" the boy shifted and smiled. "You ever ride a camel, mister?" 

"No, never in my life," Ezra replied. "Although I have had seen with one before, at a circus where I worked for a time, but that was a Bactrian, a two-hump variety of this creature. But I never really got to know the beast. I kept my distance, respectfully." 

The boy snorted, and gave Ezra odd look. "Two humps? I cain't see how a thing could be." He fixed his gaze on his steed, turning his head this way and that, and finally said, "No sir, I don't see how Eloise could have more than one. T'ain't possible. It'd be a mighty queer thing if she did, 'cause she's a beautiful thing right now and another hump would make her all lob-sided. I wouldn't know how to fix the saddle." 

Eloise glared at Ezra and blinked her long eyelashes disdainfully.

"She is a lovely creature," Ezra told him, trying not to breathe through his nose.

"Best ever!" the boy said. He leaned far over, looking as if he was in danger of toppling from his perch, but he was apparently familiar with how to handle the saddle. "M'name is Uriah. How about you?"

Ezra carefully accepted Uriah's outstretched hand, keeping an eye on the camel's suspicious expression. "Ezra," he said, "Ezra Standish."

"You been in a circus?"

"For a time."

"You seen elephants?"

"Indeed I have!" Ezra replied brightly.

"They got nothin' on camels," Uriah told him.

Ezra nodded sagely. "It is difficult to find a match to them. Where did you get such a fine creature as this?" he asked.

"My papa was in the Camel Corps back before the war and figured that camels is better than horses in every way." The boy sat up tall and proud in his saddle. "Better than mules or donkeys or even dumb elephants."

Ezra wasn't so sure of Uriah's pronouncement. The camel looked downright hideous. "Your father is a wise man," Ezra conceded. "Wise and generous. He wouldn't leave a man alone in the desert, if I am not mistaken."

"My papa 's the best man ever!" the boy exclaimed. "But he ain't no fool. Where you goin'?"

"Bernard," Ezra responded. "A soon as I can reach it."

"That's a distance," the kid declared. "How much you aim to pay?"

"How much do you believe such a ride is worth?"

"$10!" the boy tried out the exorbitant amount hopefully.

Ezra's hand brushed at his torn pocket. "I'm afraid that I'm short on funds at the moment. Perhaps we can work up a trade?"

Uriah looked thoughtful and his gaze fixed on the pile of items from the crate. He pulled a switch from his saddle and twitched it at his camel's knees, "Down, Ellie. Down you go." And Eloise complied with a sigh and a strange honking sound. Her legs folded under her and the boy easily leapt down from the high hump when her belly rested on the ground. 

"What you got?" Uriah asked, moving toward the pile left from the crate. 

Eloise swiveled her long neck to keep an eye on Ezra. He backed away from her, trying to smile disarmingly.

The camel didn't seem to be buying it.

Once he was clear, Ezra turned to the boy. "There's plenty here to delight a young man such as yourself," he said, as he maneuvered closer to his belongings. "Is there anything -- outside of this clock and chest -- that catches your eye?"

"Why not the clock and chest?" Uriah asked, giving the items a quick appraisal. 

"They're for my mother," Ezra explained, "and I cannot part with them." 

"Fair enough," the boy said as he squatted beside the other items. He picked up the snow globe and tipped it back and forth, watching the way the snow just seemed to flutter down inside. He frowned. "What's this good for?"

"In all honesty, nothing," Ezra responded.

Next Uriah spotted the stuffed squirrel. He looked alarmed and disturbed. He gave Ezra an accusing look.

"Let me declare now," Ezra said, "that does not belong to me."

Uriah finally picked up the leather pouch. He hefted it in his hand, and then opened it. A smile lit his face.

"Perhaps," Ezra said, leaning over him, "You will accept this bag of marbles in exchange for a ride to Bernard on the lovely Eloise? Would that be agreeable?"

The boy looked up at him. The smile told Ezra everything he needed to know. JD might lose his marbles, but at least he might be able to keep all his fingers. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

Riding a camel was nothing like riding a horse, Ezra decided. It was more like riding in a boat – like riding in the crows-nest of a boat – a boat that smelled terrible.

He sat in the huge saddle, behind the boy, the blanket wrapped around him as if he were a Bedouin. He thanked his luck stars that he wasn't the type to get seasick.

Eloise loped across the desert, quicker than Ezra thought possible. Her legs had an uncanny way of moving that didn't seem quite right – more like a cat than a horse.

The boy talked as they rode, he talked almost non-stop, detailing the wonders of camels and the short-sightedness of the US Government in abandoning the Camel Corp.

"Papa said it was 'cause of Jefferson Davis," Uriah said. "Said the whole project was tainted 'cause no one wanted to support nothin' that a Reb started up, 'cause no one likes Rebs. Then the War put an end to everything good and people stopped thinkin' about camels. Were using horses and mules for everythin' and completely kept the camels out of it. My papa says, they should've sent a whole cavalry of camels after the Rebs. That'd send 'em runnin'. Everyone would be ridin' them now if it weren't for that war and the damn Rebs causin' us all to hate Jeff Davis."

"It's obvious," Ezra responded, doing his best to keep his seat.

"'Course," Uriah went on, "Camels and horses is like cats and dogs. Don't know a horse that can stand the sight of a camel. They're no damn good that way. A horse would sooner run off than let a camel near 'em. Flighty and silly things. Don't have the grace and smarts of a camel. Papa says only mules is worse."

"I have never been fond of them," Ezra said, "Mules, that is. They are rather mule-headed."

Uriah laughed as if the statement was actually funny. Mostly, he seemed to appreciate the mule maligning comment.

"Perhaps," Ezra said, "horses might become used to camels in time, if they were allowed to become accustomed to these most graceful and elegant creatures?"

"Might," Uriah conceded. "I say that horses is just jealous." And he gave a resolute nod to his thought. "Camels is the best animal ever for the desert. They drink once and don't need nothin' more for days. They don't sweat like a horse and can eat just about anythin'. More surefooted than a horse, that's for sure."

Uriah continued to tick off all the reasons that camels were superior to horses, and Ezra made sounds of agreement, though his opinion was far from concurrence.

No sir, he appreciated the ride to Bernard, but he didn't need to ever be near such a foul-smelling, disagreeable-looking beast again.

Eloise kept turning its head and staring at him as if she wanted to spit right in his face.   
They avoided White Rock and made a beeline to Bernard.

"They's graceful. Mules are the ugliest things on earth and ain't got a tick of grace in 'em. Don't know how no one can stands 'em. Horses don't look right. Eloise sure is pretty."

"Camels do have a regal beauty about them," Ezra commented.

Uriah gave him a big grin. "Yeah, they do!" he agreed.

Eloise kept up her jaunty trot, and the riders swayed this way and that.

"You worked at the circus?" the boy said again. "One came through here once and they had all sorts of nonsense there, but no camel. They had elephants, but who needs to see that? Didn't seem worth buyin' a ticket if they didn't even have a camel. Maybe if they had one of those two-hump-ers and I could've gone to see if such a thing were true. I won't believe it though 'til I sees it."

The camel kept jogging.

Ezra glanced behind him to the chest that was strapped on the saddle – inside it was crammed the puzzle box, and most of JD's remaining purchases. It made a tight fit, and the stuffed squirrel suffered for it. It was now separated from the rocking chair, and the arms were too bent to allow for book-reading, but it still held the pipe in its frantically-clenched jaws. The clock was lashed to the top of the chest because there just wasn't enough room.

Uriah nodded and said, "There it is! There's Bernard."

And Ezra sighed, glad to have the town finally in sight. He fished JD's watch out of his pocket and checked the time. It was still good. He'd make it back before the deadline.

"See! We made it fast! Eloise is the best!" the boy added, grinning. "She's the best ever." He slapped her neck in admiration and she made a warbling sound.

"Yes," Ezra said. "I am eternally grateful for your help, for both of you. You have certainly gotten me out of a fix."

The kid kept jabbering away as the town drew nearer, until he slowed the camel to a trot and finally drew her to a stop.

"Uriah, my friend, what is wrong?" Ezra asked, a little alarmed at the cease in motion. Bernard was still a distance away.

Uriah shook his head. "I cain't take you no further. There's brambles and stuff. Eloise don't like 'em. And then, like I said, camels and horses don't mix good and papa told me not to go near town."

"Well, what do you care?" Ezra tried. "So, you frighten a few horses, they're not as good as camels anyway. What does it matter if they go charging off as you go chargin' in?"

Uriah smiled obviously pleased at that thought, but he shook his head again. "There's folks that'd shoot a camel on sight. Sons of bitches, they are! I ain't riskin' my Eloise," he said resolutely. "'Sides, I need to head home. Ma will start fussin' if I'm gone too long. I tol' her I was goin' for a ramble, but she 'spects me home 'fore dinner."

Well, i Ezra still had the time to make that walk and arrive at his appointed meeting time. He really wasn't much of a 'walker'. He looked about, wondering if someone else was nearby who could offer him a ride.

Before the boy could use his switch to make Eloise kneel, Ezra stilled his hand. 

"Could you, would you, perhaps, drop me off over there?" he asked, and pointed northward, to where an empty windmill tower broke the otherwise empty scenery. "I would be much obliged," he added with a grin. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

The boy was a hard bargainer, and when he turned Eloise to head toward his Ma and Papa, Uriah had not only JD's marbles, but the tiny rocking chair as well. Apparently, his mother fashioned old-lady dolls out of carved, dried apples, flour sack dresses and corn husks – the little rocking chair would be the perfect place to display her latest creation.

The blanket went with him as well, a reward to Eloise. It would look lovely under her huge hump-saddle and she deserved it. Besides, it was still a bit damp and Ezra didn't want to deal with it. 

And Ezra had to lighten his load. 

He watched Uriah and Eloise go. The boy stopped the camel at one point and turned toward him. He waved. Ezra waved back. He could have sworn that the camel gave him the stink-eye.

The boy kicked the camel and turned her. Eloise continued her rolling pace. 

Once Ezra was certain they were gone, and no one else was about to see him -- he turned, and with his back to the empty windmill tower – he headed north, swaying as he stiffly moved. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~   
The cave wasn't easy to find. Liam had had enough presence of mind to cover it with sagebrush, but after a certain amount of searching, Ezra finally found it. He dragged the tumbleweeds out of the way and peered within. The cave was a dark and deep hole.

After thinking a moment, Ezra opened the chest and found JD's travel lamp. It took a moment to set up, but once lit, it worked perfectly for exploring the cave. Thankfully, matches had been stored in the base.

Ezra smiled at his good fortune and crawled into the hole with the light. The cave was low and he had to crouch. He hoped that no creatures had decided to make their home in its depths. He didn't need any new surprises.

He scrabbled onward, holding the lamp out in front, aware of all his abused muscles. This was not a good idea, he reminded himself. He was under a deadline, and there was truly no reason to make this exploration, but he really couldn't help himself.

There were untold riches involved and miscreants to thwart.

Finally, he reached the end of the natural cave, and a shape formed in the darkness. He held out the light to get a clear view and found a box. 

A strongbox. 

A locked strongbox. 

Damn. 

He glared at it, and the huge padlock that kept the strongbox fastened shut. It was a formidable looking thing. If he had his lock-picking tools, he could probably pop it in a minute or so, but he'd lost the set in the river. He could probably fashion something else. There were wires in that squirrel to keep it in position, but he honestly didn't want to start taking that thing apart to get at those pieces of metal. 

He tried to lift the box, but it was heavy. He could pull it out of the hole, but he wasn't certain that he wanted to do that just yet.

He rested his head in his hands as the little lantern flickered and the strongbox remained damnably locked. This was doing no good whatsoever. 

He pulled the cheap watch from his pocket and checked the time. He had to begin his walk to town. He'd only been curious about the cache. There was nothing wrong in wanting to peek at the wealth, to hold it in his hands, to just -- for a moment -- pretend it was his.

That wasn't asking a lot, was it?

He only wanted to see what was here before he gave it all away – gave it all back to the men who'd performed such horrible deeds.

Liam had worked hard to keep them from it, and he had died for it, as had the drummer Jenkins and the shop owner, Lucky Pete. It hardly seemed right that he should hand it all back.   
He could think of plenty of uses for that sort of wealth and for a moment his mind spun, considering it.

If he only had the key, he'd have the strongbox open in a moment without having to move it anywhere. It seemed odd that Liam had given Claire everything she needed except for this key. The chest's delicate key wouldn’t work in this big iron strongbox.

Why? Why didn't he give her key to this lock as well?

But, what if he did?

He slapped his forehead, wincing and swearing as he was reminded of the bruises and scrapes there. "Damn fool!" he growled and scrambled his way out of the cave, back to the chest.   
He pulled out the puzzle box, and he quickly ran through the movements to free the lid. Once that was out of the way, he pressed this way and that on the sides of the puzzle, until one side finally gave – sliding upward – revealing a tiny hidden drawer beneath the inner chamber.

How could he have forgotten? Some puzzle boxes, the good ones, hid a drawer in the base. 

He pulled the drawer open to the happy trill of a chime. It was meant to sound like a bird call, and used the same sort of tines that as a music-box. He couldn't have been happier to hear that little sound.

Within the drawer, above the pretty inlayed wood image of a bird, was a shape wrapped in a handkerchief –and within the piece of cloth was a heavy iron key. 

 

PART 7: 

JD waited. JD waited as patiently as he was able. His arms hurt from being tied behind the chair, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing better than to try these men.

He'd learned their names over the past hours -- Fulshear was the blond man with the broken nose. Darrow was the tall man with the ugly face. Marvin Harris was the man in charge.   
Harris was dangerous -- very dangerous.

JD kept his head down, doing his best to be ignored. The little mongrel curled up near his feet, asleep. Her chest rose and fell and she made little contented sighs, overjoyed to be inside and settled beside someone's chair. She had followed him here, and the men apparently thought the dog was his. They were keeping it captive, too, just in case they could hold that over Ezra's head as well.

When they first arrived at their destination, they'd attempted to put a rope around the terrier's neck, but she'd bounded away, bouncing and jouncing and avoiding their attempts to corral her, until they just let her be. Then, she just settled beside Dunne and seemed happy. 

JD had always figured that if he had a little dog, he'd name her Sadie. 

After he'd been captured, and dragged up the stairs to this place -- Fulshear and Darrow left to find Ezra. They came back – Fulshear moving gingerly and sporting a bloodied nose. They let Harris know that Ezra didn't have what they wanted. They'd let him fetch the items and bring them back –they'd used JD's life and well-being to make him do it. 

They'd tried to follow Standish, but lost him. 

Standish had until 3pm. After that, they'd start carving out pieces of JD Dunne. Harris had looked at him then, his eyes cold and cruel – and JD had no doubts that this man was capable of such horror. He glanced to the table beside him where a huge, ugly knife waited beside a hatchet.

The young man tried not to think about how close that time was now. It was rather impossible to ignore.

The mantle clock and the chest -- what was so important about them? There was nothing inside except for the key and those love letters. JD puzzled over it and was unable to come up with a reason why these men were so insistent on getting the things.

They'd questioned him, of course, but he'd cried over and over, "I don't know! Ezra didn't tell me if he opened the chest or not. He doesn't tell me anything!" Apparently, his show was believable, because they'd just looked disgusted and left him alone.

He hoped Ezra was okay. Standish had been gone for a long time. He glanced to the spiral stairway at the center of the room, and wondered when Ezra would come. 

Because Ezra would return – JD had no doubt about it. The question was, would he get back in time? 

Ezra had five minutes. JD glanced to the backside of the town's clock. It made up a good part of the wall beside him in the clock tower. The time was impossible to ignore.

Harris sat on a chair near him. Fulshear and Darrow paced the catwalk that ringed the outside of the clock tower. He could hear their measured paces. 

And all around him, the tick-tock of the clock sounded like a heartbeat.

There were no bells within the tower. Certainly, they'd be deaf by now if that was the case. But the endless tick, tick, tick, counting down his mortality, was about to drive him insane. 

"You see him yet?" Harris asked when Darrow passed the door.

"Not yet," Darrow responded darkly. "Don't think he's going to make it in time." 

"Pity," Harris responded, picking up his knife from the table. He ran a thumb over its edge and fixed his gaze on JD. "I do appreciate promptness."

JD swallowed and said, "He's comin'. He'll be here." The dog lifted her head at his voice and thumped her tail on the wooden floor. 

Harris stood, moving menacingly toward him. JD gripped the arms of the chair and the dog growled. 

"He was told what would happen if he was late," Harris stated coldly as he came closer. "I always keep my word, even though there are those that don't."

"Five minutes!" JD insisted. "There's still five minutes!" 

Harris drew his gaze away from the young man to glance at the huge clock. "I 'spect your right," he said, but he didn't move away. "No sense in wasting time." He grabbed JD's tied wrist and flattening his palm against the arm of the chair. 

JD felt his breath quicken as Harris fixed his hand, forcing the index finger out. The dog's growl increased and she got to her feet, hackles raised. 

"Five minutes!" JD squeaked. 

"More like four now," Harris said with a thick laugh. And the clock kept ticking. 

JD swallowed, listening to the sound of Darrow and Fulshear pacing the catwalk outside, hearing the deep throated growl of the little dog, and the steady tick of the clock as time passed. Harris didn't release his grip. 

Gears ground and the minute-hand clicked again.

"Three," Harris purred.

"He's coming!" JD insisted. "He'll be here!"

"There!" Fulshear suddenly shouted. "There's that son of a bitch! He's walking up Main Street! He's got the stuff!"

Thank God! JD thought. Oh, thank God!

"Get him," Harris ordered, not releasing JD's hand from its position.

Fulshear and Darrow moved from the catwalk and down the stairway to the street level, neither seemed to be in a huge hurry. It took them a long time to walk down those stairs.

JD's breath was coming in pants as the huge minute hand cranked again. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Harris watched the clock, looking gleeful.

"Two," Harris crooned as he leaned close, his breath stinking of chewing tobacco. "I rather doubt they'll be able to get back in time, don't you?"

"He's coming!" JD cried. "He's here! He's here, in town! Just give him time to get up here!" Hurry, Ezra! he thought. Please, please, please, hurry!

The clock kept ticking. Seconds passed. Gears ground and the massive hand moved again.

"One," Harris whispered into JD's ear and he moved the knife, bringing it until the blade touched the base of JD's finger.

"Please, please, don't," JD begged. "He's here. Please, don't do this." He couldn't help but count the seconds that droned around them. 10, 20, 30…. The clock seemed to collect itself as the minute- and hour-hand prepared to move into the 3:00 position.

JD whimpered. Harris pressed down hard on his wrist, using his weight to hold JD still and to give him the leverage he needed. With the other hand, he put the tip of the knife in position, prepared to see-saw it down on JD's pinned finger.

"Please!" JD cried. "Let me go."

"No," Harris said simply.

And JD tried to prepare himself for the horrible dismemberment, sucking in his breath and tightening his muscles uselessly.

There was a roar of a bark and the little rat terrier launched herself at Harris.

Marvin let out a shout of pain as needle sharp teeth tore at his leg. He kicked, sending the snarling dog flying. Sadie flew, twisting like a cat so that she hit the wall feet-first and she ricocheted. Toe nails skittered as hit the floor and she caught her balance. Her teeth were bared, promising extreme violence.

She snapped, snarled and lunged at Harris, sidestepping his foot that tried to punt her. 

"Son of a bitch!" Harris howled as he lashed the knife, but Sadie skittered, darting out the door and onto the catwalk. 

"I'm gonna kill that cur of yours!" Harris shouted as he leaned over JD, brandishing his knife at the bound man's throat. 

The dog's head appeared at the door and she yapped loudly at the man, but ducked back out before could do anything about it.

"Stupid bitch!" he shouted at her.

And then there were the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading up to the tower, quick footsteps.

JD held his breath as Ezra's head suddenly appeared as he ran up. He looked bruised and battered and disheveled. One eye was nearly closed – the other was topped by an unpleasant looking cut.

What had happened to him!

Ezra looked around the space and then caught JD's gaze. "Lovely locale," he said blithely, apparently ignoring the enraged man with the knife.

Ezra carried the chest with the clock and puzzle box stacked atop. His clothing was torn, and his trouser legs were totally in tatters. And JD wasn't sure, but it looked as if the stuffed squirrel, smoking a tiny pipe, was peeking out of his one intact jacket pocket.

"You're late!" Harris declared, pointing the knife at Standish as he came clear of the stairs. "The boy's going to lose a digit or two because of you!" And he turned to Dunne, getting into position to make good on his threat. 

JD sucked in a breath in horror. 

"That clock is wrong," Ezra pointed out. "Everyone knows it." He stepped clear of the spiral stairs, letting Darrow and a very unhappy looking Fulshear follow. Setting the objects at his feet, he pulled JD's watch from his pocket. "See," he said. "Here's proof. This clock is ten minutes fast. I am ahead of time. The boy gets to keep all of his parts."

Darrow frowned. "I thought it was slow,” he commented. 

Fulshear shook his head. "Runs fast some weeks then goes slow others." 

Harris ignored them and seemed to accept Ezra's proof. "Cutting it rather close," he said, setting the knife on the table. 

Ezra looked chagrinned. "Cutting was what I was trying to avoid," he said with a nod toward Dunne. "I had some difficulty with a field of sagebrush and cactus on my return trip," he admitted as he gestured to his tattered pants. "It took longer than I thought to extricate myself. But I did manage to catch up with Mr. Ainsworth and retrieved what he'd purchased from me." He indicated the pile at his feet. "And here they are! Exactly as you requested -- with everything in them. Well, except this." 

Ezra smiled broadly. "I think this is what you're looking for," he said, holding out the puzzle box. Fulshear snatched it from his grip and brought it to Harris. 

"What the hell is this?" Harris asked, turning the pretty block in his hands. 

"I think it's a puzzle box," Ezra told him. "Chinese or something. You have to figure out how to open it. There's a trick to it." Harris did not look impressed. "Truly," Ezra continued. "Shake it. You can hear that something is inside. I tried to figure it out, but failed miserably."

Harris shook the box, and something rattled. As Darrow and Fulshear kept their weapons trained on Ezra, Harris tried to open the box, but it had no hinges, no door, and no apparent lid.   
He glared at Ezra. 

Ezra shrugged. "I think you need to move the little slats around." He jiggled his thumbs in pantomime. "I wasn't able to do it." He looked apologetic and sincere. 

Fulshear gestured at him. "Get your hands up!" he ordered. Ezra complied. "Stay right where you are!" 

From the other side of the room, JD watched Ezra. He wished they were closer, but the spiral stairs, with the clock's weight-well in the center, separated them entirely. Fulshear obviously wasn't going to let Standish get any nearer."

Harris tugged at the sides of the box, pressed at them, pulled and finally was able to get the first slat to slide to the side, but nothing else moved. Growling, he slammed it down on the table near JD and picked up a hatchet. 

JD cringed, closing his eyes. From the catwalk, Sadie growled, her toothy muzzle just visible in the doorway. 

Harris raised the hatchet over his head and Ezra watched with an intense gaze. The hatchet swung and came down violently, shattering the pretty little box. 

Unable to restrain himself, JD shouted a surprised, "Eeep!"

"Effective," Ezra commended. 

Harris smashed at the box again, further shattering it and then he tossed the hatchet in the corner. Intricate pieces were broken to kindling. 

Fulshear kept his gun aimed at Ezra while Darrow moved near his boss. 

"Is it in there?" the tall man asked breathlessly. 

From the debris, Harris drew out the packet of letters, frowning a little. "They're moist," he complained. 

Ezra sighed. "I fell in a river. It couldn't be helped." 

And JD gave Ezra curious look. It was a cold day, and Ezra did look as if he might have been underwater at some point – rumpled from head to foot.

Harris and Darrow quickly made their way through the letters, finding the one that was different from the rest. "That's Liam's handwriting, all right," Darrow said. "It's the same as that letter that the sheriff brung us."

Harris flicked at something on the page – a white speck, and they started reading. 

The clock kept up its heartbeat ticking as they read the pages. Their expressions changed – Harris' face darkened with anger, while Darrow's took on a different expression –perhaps one of shame.

Fulshear kept his gaze on Ezra – kept his pistol aimed at his head. "That it?" the blond asked Harris. "Is that what you were looking for?"

Harris poked at the broken box, finding the iron key. "This is it," he answered. "Everything we need." 

"Good," Fulshear responded, his gaze growing sharper and crueler. "Goodbye, gambler."

Ezra braced himself, ready to jump.

And the door below burst open. "Where is he!" an enraged voice shouted. "Where is that son of a bitch?" 

Fulshear switched his aim from Ezra to the top of the stairs. Harris and Darrow mirrored him, and Ezra wisely edged way from the stairway. JD, tied, could do nothing but watch. 

"Stop that!" Fulshear ordered, and Ezra complied with a most innocent expression. 

The voice from below shouted, "Where is that son of a bitch horse thief!? I saw him! I saw him come in here!" 

Harris and Darrow exchanged a confused look, but Ezra sighed. He flashed JD an inscrutable look, and moved further from the stairs. 

 

PART 8: 

From the bottom of the stairs, the voice yelled, "I know you're up there, horse thief? You're gonna hang for what you've done!" 

JD watched Ezra who drew himself up a few inches and called, "I wish to apologize for that moment of impropriety."

"You son of a bitch!" was the angry retort. "You have any idea how much that animal is worth? You don't just take a man's horse and expect to live! You're trapped. You ain't gettin' away."

Fulshear glared at Ezra and shouted down, "We'll take care of him for you." 

"What's going on up there?" another voice called from below. "That you, Gareth?"

"Quiet! The thief's confessing," said another. Apparently the horse owner had brought his own posse. "Let him speak!"

Ezra continued, "Far be it for me to take away one's steed, but the matter was pressing. Time was wasting. There was little else I could do. I aim to return him to you."

"Where is he?" the first voice shouted. "What did you do with Zeus? I swear to God, if any harm has come to him, I'll skin you alive!"

Harris chuckled, his gaze on Ezra. He seemed delighted with the idea. Fulshear and Darrow kept their aim on the stairwell, ready for what might come next.

Ezra kept his arms raised and shrugged at Harris. "The horse should be in good hands at the moment."

"Send down that lily-livered thief!" the horse owner yelled.

"We aim to keep him," Harris responded. "Maybe we'll skin him for you."

"The hell you will!" And then the stairway echoed with the sound of footsteps.

"They're coming up!" Darrow shouted. "Sons of bitches are coming up!"

"Your horse is in White Rock," Ezra called down. "And what a fine beast he is. You should be proud to own such a noble creature." 

"White Rock!" the owner echoed. "What is he doing in White Rock?"

"I needed to catch the train before it continued on," Ezra told them. "He moves like the wind, like water over stone, like sunlight. He is truly amazing. You should be proud to own such a great animal."

The footsteps paused and one of the voices said in an amazed tone, "Zeus made it to White Rock before the morning train left that station?"

"Nearly," Ezra told him. "The train was just leavin' as we caught sight of it. We were able to catch it on the fly."

"Zeus caught up to the train when it was moving?" The owner sounded puffed up with pride.

"At speed," Ezra added.

"Told you he was fast!"

"I wasn't doubting you, Del," one of the other voices stated. "But I saw when that no-account gambler took off on Zeus. They had to have flown to have caught the train."

"Why would I lie?" Ezra asked.

Fulshear sneered, looking as if he could come up with many reasons.

"Zeus could have done it," Del said resolutely and repeated, "I told you he was fast." 

Harris seemed confused about the change in the conversation, not quite sure about what to do next. Finally, he shouted, "He's here! Your horse thief is right here." He trained his gun again on Ezra. "We got him covered. You can come get him."

"Who's up there?" The first man was nearly to the top of the stairs. "Is that Marvin? Who else?" 

"Why," Ezra drawled, "Besides myself and an innocent young man, there's a trio of murdering thieves."

Fulshear growled, "You shut up now!" he ordered.

"Their names are Darrow, Harris and Fulshear," Ezra went on. "I believe they are known to you?"

The first man reached the top of the spiral stairs that lay between JD and Ezra. He peered in, seeing Ezra, and then the group on the other side of the room. "Gareth, Marvin?" Del called. "Joe? What's he talking about?"

Ezra kept talking, "They killed a poor traveling salesman, a local named Liam Dunkirk and the owner of store – Lucky Pete."

"Pete?" Del's tone changed entirely. "Marvin? The man was like a father to me!" And he focused immediately on the man in charge, his forehead furrowing in building rage. 

"Don't believe him!" Harris stated. "He's a worthless lair." 

Gareth's face was twisted. "Yeah, he's just a traveling gambler who steals horses! He's the one who killed them! He killed them all!"

"You gonna trust him before you trust us?" Darrow added. "You know us, Del. You can't trust this one. Just look at him!"

JD saw Ezra's expression tighten a little at that comment. Standish spoke, his voice low and clear, "And how well can you truly trust these men?" he asked. "You know them, but do you trust them?" And he glanced to Harris. 

JD remembered how quickly Del had focused on Harris. His gaze hadn't dropped. 

Another man appeared at the top of the stairs and gazed in. He spoke in a haunted voice, "I always thought Marvin knew something about Liam. My God, Marvin? You killed Liam and Pete?" 

Marvin Harris jerked his head as if stung, and aimed a deadly look at Ezra "You'll die for this, you son of a bitch!" 

Ezra jumped through the door to the catwalk just as Harris fired. The bullet impacted the doorframe and Marvin swore loudly. He moved to follow Ezra. 

JD struggled against his bonds, trying desperately to stop the man before he went after Ezra.   
Del, his face lit with rage, shouted, "Stay where you are, Marvin!" 

But Harris didn't stop, and Del fired. Whether he meant to only scare the man, or stop him, he hit his target. 

Marvin never saw it coming. He jerked to a stop, clutching his gut.

Del kept his weapon leveled at Harris. "You killed Pete?" he said again. "Tell me it ain't so, Marvin."

But Marvin didn't respond. He took two drunken steps toward Del, and strength left him, and he fell near the top of the stairs.

Darrow and Fulshear, momentarily stunned by the turn of events, turned their guns on Del. Del and his friends returned the favor from the stairwell. As they opened fire, the whistle of the train from White Rock could be heard.

JD, horrified by what was happening, glanced to Ezra. Standish stood in the catwalk doorway, looking frustrated as he gauged the distance between them, trying to figure out how to get through the gunfire to JD. 

He couldn't make it – not with the stairs between them – not with the bullets flying. He gave JD an apologetic look, and then edged forward as if he meant to dive right into the gunfire to get to him.

Hell with that! JD had to do what he could to make himself a smaller target. He kicked at the floor as hard as he could with his bound legs. The chair started to tip backward. He threw his weight with it, and pulled his chin to his chest just as the chair back slammed on the floor.

Fulshear and Darrow flew over the table. The remains of the puzzle-box and the love letters went flying, and JD flinched as Harris' knife landed inches from his face.

Gareth and Joe pulled the table to the far side of the room, making a barricade, and thankfully drawing the gunfire away from JD and to the far side of the room. 

Suddenly, something grabbed him, and JD twisted to find Ezra yanking his chair backward and out of the room, Harris' knife clenched in his teeth. The table had blocked enough of Fulshear and Darrow's view to hide them, and apparently Del and his crew weren't that interested in them at the moment. 

The gunfire continued and someone hit the clockworks. It sent out a loud WANG and everyone ducked as the spring busted and the whole business shuddered. The endless ticking suddenly ceased.

Ezra pulled the knife from his teeth and quickly cut JD's bonds. "We need to go, JD," Ezra said succinctly.

JD sat up and rubbed his arms. "Yeah," he said. "Good idea." He glanced about. The street below the clock was empty of people. They had either scattered at the sound of gunfire, or had gone to meet the train. The plume of smoke and steam left no question that the train was at the station.

On the other side of the tower – was the roof of the City Hall.

Ezra leaned, grasping hold of the chest and the gold clock that were just inside the room. He dragged them onto the catwalk with them. The little dog sniffed at Ezra's pocket and gave a little growl at the stuffed squirrel that peeked out at her. 

"Move it, JD" Ezra said. "And take this with you." He jammed the chest into JD's arms as Ezra picked up the clock. 

JD looked confused. "Aren't we done with these?" he asked. 

Ezra pointed. "Quick, before they resolve their differences, run out of bullets, or kill off one side of the argument. Onto the roof!" 

JD hefted the heavy chest and hurried to the other side of the clock tower. The dog followed, close to his heels.

It was a good eight feet from the catwalk to the hall's roof. He set down the chest and swung his feet over the edge, and then his body. He hung for a moment before he dropped. 

It took two stuttering steps to catch his balance. He turned to Ezra who was on his belly, lowering the chest to him, and then the clock. 

"My dog!" JD shouted. 

"Your dog?" Ezra returned incredulously. 

"I ain't leaving her! They'll kill her." 

Ezra sighed then, twisted, and a moment later handed the terrier down. Sadie snarled at the handling, but the stuffed squirrel, jammed in her mouth, kept her from snapping.

She whimpered a little as she reached JD's hands, and seemed glad to have her feet set on a solid surface again. She scampered happily at JD's side, worrying the squirrel's body in her jaws.   
Ezra dropped next, landing with a weary groan. "Go!" he said to JD, pointing to the far side of the roof.

The gunfire changed, and JD realized that the fight was moving down the stairway. And suddenly, the combatants were heard in the street. Fulshear was yelling, telling Del to put down his weapon. He'd apparently gotten a hold of someone and was using him as a shield. 

"Drop it or he dies!" 

A whistle blew at the train station. 

"Ezra!" JD whispered urgently. "What do we do?"

"We get off the roof!" Ezra told him, pointing again to the other side of the building. 

JD moved. The voices of Fulshear, Del and Darrow drifted further from them. 

The two men and one small dog scrabbled across the rooftop, each carrying their own load, and they reached the back of the building. From there, they jumped to a balcony and then dropped again to the ground. Sadie became less annoyed with being picked up at each turn.

And finally, they were in the courtyard behind the City Hall. JD grinned widely. "We got away!" he cried. Sadie looked at him in admiration, still gnawing at the squirrel. The squirrel continued with its smoking habit. "Ezra, we did it! It was easy!" 

"We're not free yet," Ezra said with a sigh. He rested his hands on his knees and looked tired to the bone. "We still need to make it clear of this hell hole. We need to get our horses and return to Four Corners." 

"Livery is just over there," JD said cheerfully. "And it sounds like everyone has moved down that a-way. Not a lot of people in the street. No problem. We're almost home!" 

"You ain't going nowhere!" a voice snarled. 

JD spun about to face the Marvin Harris. 

Harris trained a gun at him with a shaking hand. His chest was stained with blood. "You think you're so smart!" he rasped. "I heard you. I heard you jump down on the roof. You're not getting away from me…. not me…" He licked his lips and wavered as the whistle blew again. 

Far away, someone shouted "All aboard!" 

"Sir," Ezra said, "I think you may want to sit down now. Perhaps it would be best if you…" 

Harris switched his aim and pulled the trigger. Ezra spun away. JD leaped at the man before he could fire again, slamming him down on the ground. The gun flew. 

Sadie jumped on the outlaw's foot, biting at the leather of his boot. The whistle blew again.   
Harris struggled, but JD kept him pinned, throwing all his weight on the man. "You ain't going!" JD yelled, doing his best to stay away from the man's bloody chest. 

Marvin growled, but the fight was already fleeing him. He gasped for breath. His muscles had no strength. 

"Stop movin'!" JD ordered. "Stop movin'! You're under arrest!" 

Harris made one last attempt to free himself, to get the dog off his foot at least, but even that wasn't to be. The light just faded from his eyes. 

He stilled, and he moved no more. 

JD stopped trying to subdue the man as soon as he realized what had happened. He stared at the man's face, seeing the truth of the matter and then jumped to his feet. With a nervous motion, he swept at his clothing as if he could wipe away any lingering reminders of the man's passing. 

"We got him, Ezra," JD said, toeing Sadie way from the man's boot. The moment JD stopped pushing her, she shot back to her place and continued growling and gnawing. JD prodded her away again, but when she didn't get the message. JD found the battered squirrel, and put it in front of her. 

Sadie abandoned the boot and went for the squirrel. She gave it a hard shake and then sat down to use her front paws to hold it down as she bit off its tail. 

JD turned to find Ezra, repeating, "We got him." 

His smile dropped when he saw Ezra. He half-sat, half-knelt, one shoulder pressed against the wall. He was trying to stand. His tattered shirt, beneath his torn jacket, was covered in blood. 

Ezra noticed that JD was looking at him. "Get the horses, JD," he said. "Go!" 

And the train left town. 

 

PART 9: 

JD had retrieved the horses as quickly as he was able, returning to find Ezra pressing what was left of his shirt against the wound. JD quietly thanked Nathan for insisting that they always stow emergency bandages in their saddlebags. 

Ezra had insisted that they do not go in search of the local doctor – there were too many people who wanted him dead. They couldn’t trust the sheriff. Their best chance was to get out of town quickly. 

He helped Ezra quickly tie up the bullet wound on his side. It didn't look too bad, but it bled a lot, and Ezra went white when he'd tightened the bindings over it. 

He gave Ezra a hand getting onto his horse, and then lifted the chest and clock to Chaucer's saddle, securing them behind his friend. 

Once Ezra was ready, JD lifted Sadie and settled her on his horse's saddle. The dog skittered nervously to catch her balance on the uneven leather surface, her toe nails making a racket. Toby twisted his neck in confusion and tried to back out from under the little dog. Sadie scrabbled all the more when the bay moved. 

JD grabbed Toby's reins to quiet him so that he could climb into the saddle, a task made harder by the little dog that wouldn't settle down and wouldn't give him any room. 

Toby didn't appreciate the situation. He danced, snorting and twisting his head to get a look at the nuisance. "Easy, boy," JD crooned. "Easy now. We can do this." And with a quick hop, JD climbed behind the dog. 

Once JD was ready, wordlessly, Ezra turned his horse and they headed out of town, slipping in-between buildings and doing their best to leave without being noticed – it wasn't easy with the commotion from the dog still wiggling, and Toby's uneven march. 

Once they were out of town, they kept a quick pace, hoping to stay ahead of anyone who might follow. JD rode with one arm on Sadie, who was still nervous in her perch. Ezra rode with one arm across his middle. 

JD had seen what the bullet had done. The wound didn't look as if it had hit anything vital, mostly carving a nasty looking path just above Ezra's hip – but it had to be painful, and it was bleeding an awful lot. 

They continued onward. Sadie squirmed, making Toby buck from time to time. Ezra commented on how he was glad that such a flea-ridden creature wasn't pressed between his saddle horn and his trousers. JD did what he could to keep their little group together. 

Time passed and, as they moved onward, Ezra became quiet – too quiet for the usually garrulous gambler. 

Worriedly, JD pulled closer to Ezra, getting a good look at him. He was uncommonly pale and trembling. He seemed half asleep and his hands didn't even lift to grip the slack reins. Chaucer continued forward, keeping up with Toby. 

"Ezra? You okay?" JD asked. 

Ezra seemed to awaken a little. "No," he replied. "Hardly." 

"We should stop for a little while, Ez." 

"No, we should not," Ezra told him. 

"They're not following us." JD twisted to look behind them. "There's no one there. And we've gone a fair distance already." 

"They will be coming in time."

"Why should they follow? Bet those men just took off for the hills 'cause they got what they wanted, right?" 

Ezra laughed a little, a chuckle that was bitten off as he sucked in his breath. "No," he finally said. "They didn't get anything." 

"But, you gave them the letter," JD pointed out. "That letter, it was what they were looking for all along." JD seemed to think a minute. "You read it, didn't you? What did it say?" 

"It was a confession," Ezra told him, "a confession concerning the evil work orchestrated by those three men. They killed a stagecoach full of people -- killed a woman, too – just to steal the money and what valuables they carried. Mr. Dunkirk attempted to separate those wretches from what they'd taken. He took the money from their hide-away, and hid it elsewhere so that those three would not profit from killin'. Liam Dunkirk paid for his brave attempt with his life." 

"But, you gave them the letter. It must have told where the money is. They'll get their money and go." JD pulled in closer to Ezra as he nearly nearly doubled over in his saddle. 

"The letter will lead them to nothing." 

"You changed the letter!" 

"No, it is exactly as Mr. Dunkirk wrote it. I had neither pen nor ink to alter it. But, that hardly matters. The riches are no longer where Liam left them." 

"Where are they?" JD asked, puzzling. "You find a new place to hide 'em?" 

"Right under their noses." Ezra turned a little in his saddle, closing his eyes at the movement, and laid a hand on the chest and clock that were tied behind them. "They're filled to near bursting. I had to take out the clockworks to make it all fit. I couldn't leave that much wealth behind, now could I?" He smiled and, carefully, he faced forward, taking the time to meticulously straighten his jacket. 

JD's gaze stayed on the two items. The chest and clock had seemed strangely heavy when he handled them earlier. "Oh," JD said. "They're going to be mad when they figure out you took it all." 

"Very mad," Ezra echoed. 

JD understood the need for haste, and he gave Toby a little kick to hurry him. Chaucer kept up.

"Maybe the horse owner got them first?" JD said hopefully. "Maybe he caught 'em and those men will do us no harm." 

"Mr. Reeves might change his mind at some point and believe what Mr. Fulshear and Darrow are spouting. I am not the most trustworthy of sorts. And Zeus' owner will, no doubt, be on my tail when he can manage it. I will be just as dead if he catches me." He smiled a little, his head dipping to his chest. "It was a mighty fine horse. The ride may've been worth it." He patted Chaucer. "But, of course, none is nobler than this fine steed." The horse made an appreciative little whinny. 

Ezra was breathing deeply and his whole body shook. The act of leaning to pet Chaucer seemed almost too much for him. 

Dunne wondered what happened to his blanket.

Wanting to keep Ezra talking, he said, "It would've been a good thing to have that confession in hand. You could've written up a fake letter to replace it if you had the right supplies." 

Ezra sighed again. "No ink. I couldn't risk them knowing Dunkirk's handwriting. And I was running late as it was. The packing of the cash… well… I lingered over it a little longer than I should have." 

JD edged closer to Ezra, their horses nearly touching. "Thank goodness that town's clock was fast otherwise they'd have cut my finger right off!" JD said, lifting his hand and pointing that finger. Sadie tried to bite it, so he dropped the hand to the dog's head. "Thank goodness for Sadie. She saved me." He smiled fondly on the little dog. 

Sadie looked up at him and licked her nose noisily. 

"The City Hall's clock was slow," Ezra reminded. "Not fast, if you recall. I was late." He paused as if trying to remember that it was only yesterday that all of this started. "Thankfully, it also runs fast on some days. The clock's lack of accuracy is what saved your skin. I had to set your watch even slower and hope it made up for my tardiness." His words came slowly, and almost slurred. 

"But you made it," JD said. "We all got out safely. You timed it just right." 

"Timing is everything." Ezra moved one hand, bringing it to his vest pocket. He fumbled a moment and drew out a watch. With great effort, he handed it to JD. His hand shook and his fingers were matted with blood. "This is yours," he said in a low voice. 

JD snagged the timepiece from the wavering hand and looked at Ezra in concern. 

"Sorry," Ezra muttered, noticing his stained hands. "It can't be helped. Time's wrong," he muttered, nodding sleepily toward the timepiece in JD's hand. 

"Ezra, we'd better stop. Let me check that bandage," JD rattled off. "I don't think it's doing enough." 

Ezra drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Sadly, the watch is all that's left of your purchases at the 'Take it or Leave it'. I'll make it up to you." 

"Ezra?" JD called as the he swayed, looking pale as a sheet. 

"Promise… somehow." 

"Ezra, we got to stop now." 

Chaucer kept moving, but his pace became confused as if he wasn't sure what his rider wanted from him. 

Ezra rubbed one hand on his ruined jacket lapels in an attempt to clean off the blood. "You need to give this to Mr. Larabee," he said as he pulled an envelope from an inside pocket. "My word..." His voice was soft, fading, "my word alone won't be enough." Thoughtfully he added, "You are a good and honest man."

JD recognized it as one of the love letters from Claire. "Ezra, we need to stop," JD said firmly, snagging the envelope that was held unsteadily toward him. He jammed it in his pocket. 

"We have so far yet to go," Ezra replied, and he seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open. "And not enough time." Chaucer paused, dancing in his uncertainty. 

"Ezra?" 

Standish gazed at JD, but didn't seem to see him. He blinked slowly, lethargically. "Be certain… Mr. Larabee gets that letter -- a good and honest man. Like you." 

"Hey, Ezra?" JD tried again, reaching Chaucer's reins to stop him. 

"Don't let them win. Too many people have…" And then like a puppet un-stringed, Ezra collapsed. 

JD was ready. His arms shot out to grab Ezra as he tipped toward him. Chaucer, surprised by the change in his rider's position, sidestepped to keep him upright, and slammed into Toby. The little bay tried to spin out of the chestnut's way, and Sadie, alarmed by the crashing of the giant animals, stood and barked, straddling Toby's neck. 

JD held on to Ezra for dear life as he tried to get Toby under control with his knees, as he tried to keep his horse next to Chaucer to save Ezra from a spill. Chaucer kept turning, banging into Toby. The bay continued his counter-movements to keep from getting bashed. Ezra was slipping. 

Sadie barked and snarled and growled, and Toby thrashed his head at the uncomfortable weight of the dog on his neck, at the unfamiliar position of his rider.

And Ezra did nothing. He slumped as if boneless, dragging JD downward. 

Chaucer, still turning, snapped at Toby for being in his way, and then snapped at the barking dog that wouldn't shut up Sadie snapped back. Toby, fed up, reared -- and suddenly JD was falling, he twisted and landed hard on his back, on the ground, with Ezra on top of him. 

Two upset horses shuffled around them, their hooves coming down solidly, too close to their heads. The dog barked and barked. 

JD curled around Ezra as he shouted an angry, "Knock it off!" to the animals. Toby twisted and finally made his way clear of Chaucer. 

The chestnut snorted at Toby and seemed to want to give chase, but he suddenly realized who was at his feet. He instantly stilled, dropping his head to snuffle at his man's hair. 

Sadie stopped trying to mount Toby's head and instead skipped back to his saddle and stood, panting and looking rather pleased with herself as she awaited JD's return. 

Toby lowered his head, looking fed up.

The young man sighed as he checked out Ezra, easing him onto the ground. 

Pale and sick and not moving – but still breathing, still alive – thank God. 

JD sat up slowly, wondering what else was going to happen to them. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

Night was falling. The world dimmed around them with dusk. 

JD had managed to move Ezra from the trail and into the cover of the sparse trees. It wasn't much, but at least they weren't out in the open. Toby and Chaucer were tied a short distance from them, out of sight from the trail and far enough away that Sadie didn't growl at Chaucer constantly. 

The little terrier was curled at Ezra's side. Both were snuggled under JD's jacket. She looked comfortable and happy. Every time JD drew near, she'd thump her tail and start to stand. 

"Just stay quiet," JD told her. "Keep him warm, okay?" 

She'd make little yowling, yawning noises in her throat, but stayed put. 

JD had tried to cope with Ezra's wound, adding more bandages and tightening them in an attempt to stem the flow. Ezra had been dazed, able to sit up with JD's help, but not aware of what Dunne was doing. He blinked and groaned when JD fixed the new bandage in place, but since JD had settled him, he'd been silent and hopefully asleep.

The fall from the horses probably hadn't helped the situation much, and they were now out of fresh bandages. JD was hopeful that the bleeding had slowed. 

Ezra must have lost an awful lot of blood during the ride. The original bindings were soaked through and his trousers were matted and dark with blood. JD wished they'd had their luggage with them – wished he had that blanket – wished they had something that could help keep Ezra warm, besides the clothing they were wearing, the saddle blankets and a little rat terrier. He wished they had some sort of a weapon to protect them if trouble came. They should have brought Harris' knife and gun, but things were happening so fast. 

JD could see that Ezra's stomach was badly bruised, his clothing torn, and his arms and legs scraped and scratched. His face looked as if he'd been beaten. JD had no idea what had happened, but he was fairly sure that Fulshear and Darrow were responsible for part of it. There were stories to be told. What had Ezra done in order to gain his release? 

And Ezra sure looked sick – sick and pale and weak – and JD was afraid. 

JD remembered how Harris had looked when he died – how the life just seemed to drain out of him. He never wanted to see something like that again. So, he sat beside Ezra and shivered as the sky grew dimmer. He'd lay down next to Ezra once it was dark, but for now he had to remain on alert. 

JD checked his watch and wondered how far off the time was. He figured it didn't really matter.   
The only thing that cheered him was that Ezra had been wrong. No one had followed them – not the thieves, not the horse's owner. It would be too dark to track soon. 

If they could make it through the cold of the night, if Ezra survived almost bleeding to death, if a fever didn't set in, if Ezra wasn't hurt in some other way that JD didn't yet comprehend… they might be okay. 

If Ezra didn't die and leave him here all alone – 

Yeah, JD thought. Ezra was wrong about being followed. They'd be fine. 

And Sadie growled. 

Nearby, Chaucer snorted and stomped one hoof in annoyance. 

"Quiet!" JD hissed. 

Sadie paused and then growled again. Chaucer shuffled menacingly. 

"Quiet!" 

A shorter growl ended in a little yip as JD put his hand on her. 

And then JD heard the other sound – in the distance, but coming closer -- the jangle of someone on horseback-- moving along the trail. Someone was coming from the direction of Bernard. 

 

PART 10: 

"Aw hell!" JD moaned as stayed close to Ezra, listening. The sound of hooves on the trail was distant, but in the quiet of their surroundings, it was evident that someone was coming. 

And dusk was just falling. The trees might hide them, but anyone would be able to see the signs of where they left the trail. 

JD leaned close to Ezra and said, "I'll be back."

Ezra didn't stir. 

Resolutely, JD crawled toward the trail. When Sadie tried to follow, he pointed at her. "Stay!" he ordered. 

She whined, making an almost human sound of disappointment as she sat up beneath the hounds-tooth jacket. 

"Stay!" Dunne ordered again as forcefully as he could in a whisper, and continued his way to where they'd left the trail, hoping he could find a way to disguise it. 

There was a bloodstain where Ezra had fallen. The path was all torn up with hoof prints, and there was the obvious markings where he dragged Ezra out of the way – and over there was a half-chewed, tail-less squirrel. How had that gotten here? JD hadn't seen it since they left Bernard. 

He punted the gnawed squirrel into the bushes, and kicked at the trail, hoping to hide the dark stain. Maybe if he just covered that up, that would be enough? 

Someone was coming. He paused, listening. 

"What'cha doin', JD?" 

The voice was so soft and so close that he nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun about. 

"Vin!" 

Tanner sat, astride Peso, with his mare's leg cradled in his arms. He must have just come around the bend, from the direction of Four Corners, silent as a cat. 

"Oh God, Vin!" JD cried. "It's good to see you!" 

Vin's face puzzled as he noticed the stained earth, and the other signs. "You alright?" he asked worriedly. 

"I'm fine but Ezra's hurt bad," JD said, nodding into the trees. 

Vin turned where JD had indicated and anxiously started to dismount. He stopped when he heard a scampering in the leaves. 

The little black and white terrier shot out of the undergrowth, snarling. She came between JD and Vin -- baring her ferocious teeth at the horseman. 

Vin shook his head at the small dog, then his expression became sharp as and he gazed beyond JD, down the trail to Bernard. "Someone's out there," he whispered to JD. 

"They're coming!" JD hissed. 

"Who's coming?" Vin cocked his head, listening. "There's at least two men on horses out there." 

"Either it's the murderin' thieves or the guy who got his horse stole. I don't know which," JD replied as he moved towards Vin's protection. 

Tanner held his rifle ready, and shouted out a clear, "Who goes there!" 

Sadie stood alert. 

There was a pause, and then, "My name is Delwood Reeves and I'm hunting down the son of a bitch that stole my horse!" 

"That answers that question," Vin muttered to JD. "What's that got to do with you?" 

"Ezra stole it," JD admitted in a low tone. "But there's probably a lot more to the story." 

"Figgered as much." 

"Where are Buck and the others?" 

"They're coming. I was scouting ahead, lookin' for a place to camp," Vin explained. Then, in a loud voice, he called, "Come on forward. I think we need to talk to you." 

At that moment, the little dog spotted something in the bushes nearby and dove in, coming out with a half a chewed squirrel. She rolled with it on the trail. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

Ezra blinked, seeing the cloth of a lean-to above his head. 

He turned his head slowly, feeling weak and dry and tremendously tired. God, he hurt. Every inch of him ached in one way of another. But at least, he was warm – almost too warm -- wrapped up in blankets. He wanted out. He tried to move, but something shifted beside him, stilling him. 

"Hey, welcome back, hoss." 

He blinked again and Buck's grinning face came into focus. 

"Buck?" he said hoarsely, perplexed. "Mr. Wilmington, what're you doin' here?" 

Buck continued to smile as he opened a canteen. "We got that wire you sent yesterday -- about trouble in Bernard. Knowin' how things go to hell all around you, we figured we should come on out and check out the situation. Took us a while to get gathered. Damn sorry we didn't get here sooner." 

"Glad you made it," Ezra responded. "Ya'll are here?" 

"Yup. More or less," Buck said with a shrug. 

Ezra blinked again as Buck filled a cup. "JD?" 

"Now, don't you go frettin' yourself about the kid. He's with Chris and Vin," Wilmington told Ezra. "They all went back to Bernard with Del and his friend to set things straight. Chris and the rest are fetchin' a wagon because you're not gonna be getting on another horse anytime soon. Damn near killed yourself once already. Come on, upsee-daisy."

Ezra grunted as Buck helped him to sit up for a drink. From his upright position, he could see Nathan sleeping near the small fire, his back toward them. 

Josiah was stepping through the little group of trees – probably searching out firewood. 

Ezra startled when something moved by his legs again. Under the blankets, it vibrated and growled as he adjusted his position. 

When he shot Buck a startled look, Wilmington laughed. "It'd be best if you don't touch her or nothin'. Like most ladies, she doesn't much care for bein' disturbed when she's sleepin'." 

A flash of realization crossed Ezra as he grumbled, "That dog is in my blankets?" And he moved his arm stiffly to get the blankets out of the way, to free himself from the animal. The growl increased in intensity. 

Nearby, Josiah laughed. "Listen to Buck, Ezra. It is best to let sleeping dogs lie." He walked toward them with a hatchet over one shoulder and a load of wood under the other arm. "Good to see you awake." He settled his load near the fire. 

Ezra mumbled a greeting and then let Buck help him to settle back into the blankets. He was feeling every ache and bruise at that moment, feeling weak and hot and horrible, and was wishing for some of Nathan's evil brews. 

The dog, unseen, growled again, and once Ezra was still, she shuffled around, climbing over one of his legs and nestling between his knees. He felt the dog sigh contentedly. 

Ezra moaned as he thought of the fleas, but heeded the words of the others and did nothing to dislodge the little terrier. It hurt too much to move in any case. 

"Heard you stole one," Buck said once Ezra was still. 

"Stole one? Stole what?" Ezra responded. "The dog? It's JD who toted it along. He should have brought it back to Bernard with him." 

"A horse," Buck said with a shake of his head. "They say you stole a horse." 

Josiah found a seat beside Buck, "They say it was a mighty fine one indeed," he said. "There was a man here who wanted you dead." 

"He should stand in line," Ezra muttered. There was a buzzing in his head and he closed his eyes a moment and then forced them open, trying to stay awake. 

Buck continued, "That fella Del had to ride a rented mount out here. He didn't seem too pleased. JD got him convinced that you meant no harm. He said you were just vexing the man that killed Lucky Pete. That kid spun a pretty good tale, because Del figured he'd give you the benefit of the doubt for the time bein'." 

Josiah added with a big grin, "JD told the man where you live. He'll go to White Rock first, and if his stallion isn't there, he knows where to find you." 

Ezra sighed again, hoping that someone in White Rock had taken in that horse, and that whoever did so was willing to part with it when the real owner came calling. He knew that he would not give up such a horse. Perhaps there were good and honest men in this world. 

"I'm enormously glad he believed JD's tale," Ezra replied quietly. "It must have sounded a bit fantastic." 

"Well," Josiah said. "We don't know the whole story." 

Buck showed Ezra something in the palm of his hand. "I found this little corncob pipe. I figure this has something to do with something?" 

Ezra puckered his brow at the sight of it. 

"We've been waiting for you wake up to divulge the story," Sanchez stated. 

Ezra licked his lips and wanted to reply, but it was getting harder to form a straight thought. He looked up at Josiah. It would take a while to tell it all and he couldn't quite order it. It was all a muddle in his head. 

He didn't know how long he paused, but after a moment, Ezra felt a cool hand on his forehead. Josiah made a tsking sound and turned to Buck. "He feels hot."

He had to tell them.

"Fever?" Buck asked. 

Josiah nodded, looking disappointed. 

What if they didn't know? He had to tell them before those evil men got away. 

"I'll wake Nathan," Buck said, standing. 

"Those men…" Ezra started to say, but an ache caught him, and he stopped mid-sentence. He had so much that he needed to impart. " … they…" 

"Just wait a moment, Ezra. We're getting Nathan," Josiah told him. As Ezra looked up at him, he considered how old the man looked at that moment. There was a worry in his eyes that disturbed Ezra and he wished it would go away. 

"Don't try to move. You've been shot, Ezra." Josiah told him, unnecessarily – as if he would forget that. "Someone beat you rather badly." 

"Badly?" Ezra responded. "I'm certain they thought they did a good job of it. I got a few licks in myself." He smiled, trying to look confident, but he felt so tired, so damnably hot. His sight seemed to be dimming, but he had to tell them everything he'd learned. "The letter, you need to…" he started, but he was feeling too foggy. "Killers, they killed those …" He was too tired, but he tried to keep speaking. 

Josiah looked annoyed, and said sharply, "Quiet, Ezra. Just… Ezra?" Josiah's voice seemed to catch and, as the blackness closed in around Ezra, Sanchez shouted, "Nathan!" 

But Ezra had decided to heed Josiah's order and was quiet. 

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

He remembered bits and pieces of what followed. There were moments of daylight clarity, followed by fog and dusk and night. The wagon arrived with JD and the others. There was noise and action all around him. 

He was lifted. A dog barked. He remembered Josiah speaking to him, but the words didn't come clear, only the concern was evident. He was settled in a wagon. Horses were moved about. 

He remembered all of them – JD, Buck, Chris and everyone -- at some point. Their faces appeared over him like planets. Concerned faces – he wished he could tell them everything he'd learned. It would ease that worry.

Then there was a wagon-ride that stretched on to forever – the jerk and the jangle of the journey. 

There were patches of consciousness where he stared at the sky, or saw Nathan hovering over him, a cool cloth against his face, water to his lips. Around him a mush of noises – voices, horses, the crunch of rock under wagon wheel, that damn dog. 

He was so hot. 

Then he was carried again – feet on stairs. Voices again. 

"It's going to be okay, Ezra. Just hang on." 

Then he was in Nathan's clinic and he was still too hot and distant and not able to string thoughts together. There was pain and heat and drifting. People came and went and he felt as if he was at sea. 

He dreamed of camels. 

And then, finally, suddenly, the heat left him as, mercifully, his fever broke. 

Since then, he slept. 

It was night when he woke, feeling more like himself. He found a room lit by a lantern. He turned toward the light and lay quietly, watching Larabee as he read. It didn't take long for Chris to realize that eyes were upon him. 

"Ezra," Larabee said as he set the book aside. "How you feeling?" 

"I have been much better, quite often, in fact," Ezra murmured. 

"Figured as much," Chris responded. He said nothing else for a moment, just watching Ezra, and then stated, "It was pretty smart of you to make a copy of that confession." 

Ezra smiled a little. "You found it then?"

"JD gave me the envelope like you asked him," Chris said. "I started reading this lady's love letter out loud." He chuckled. "It wasn't the sort of thing meant to be read that way, to a bunch of men around a campfire." He paused and said, "Vin saw it." 

"Our eagle-eyed tracker," Ezra responded. 

"He saw something odd about the back of that page. The message was pretty faint." Larabee cocked an eyebrow at Ezra. "JD told us what he knew about Dunkirk's original letter. How did you make an exact copy of the message – backwards -- on the back of that other letter?"

Ezra smiled, always pleased to describe his own cleverness. "I had to sacrifice the snow globe that Mr. Dunn acquired along our travels. I used the water within to wet down Mr. Dunkirk's original manuscript, and with the coarse pages moistened, the cheap ink transferred to back of his sweetheart's pages. I had hoped it would suffice. Then, I had to moisten the rest of her letters to match Dunkirk's to ensure they all looked similar when those miscreants checked them. There wasn’t time to dry them. Hopefully the remnants of 'snow' weren't that noticeable. I could only clear off so much." 

Chris chuckled slightly. "It did the trick. I took the confession with me when I went to town to fetch you that wagon." 

"They've apprehended those miscreants?" Ezra asked hopefully. 

Chris nodded. "Darrow and Fulshear managed to get out of town at about the same time you left. They took a hostage, but the man got away. Darrow and Fulshear tried to get the money they stole." 

"And they were disappointed," Ezra said, smiling. 

"Yeah. They came back to town, looking for you. The townspeople brought them to the jail, but sheriff seemed content to let them go." 

"The sheriff is in on their foul deeds." Ezra stared up at the ceiling. "The townspeople couldn't have known that fact though, as you hadn't delivered the confession yet."

"Fulshear and Darrow took a hostage when they left town," Larabee reminded. "When the sheriff decided to ignore that fact, the townspeople became suspicious." 

"Thank God," Ezra muttered. "I was afraid those two would be long gone before anything could be done with them. At the time I left, there was no proof of their misdeeds, and the sheriff was in league with them. Only my word…" Ezra said, lifting and dropping a hand.

"Seems that it was enough," Chris said. "They believed you enough to hold their own people captive."

Ezra stared at him in disbelief.

Chris went on, "I had the proof to back you up -- the letter and the stolen goods. The judge will be coming to Bernard soon."

"You brought the money and jewelry back to them?" Ezra asked, "All of it?" and he gazed about the room, searching for something. 

Chris continued to smile. "All of it," he said. "We brought the clock and the chest back to town, loaded with everything that you packed in there." And as Ezra continued to check the room, Chris added, "We included the bills you stashed in the lining of your jacket – for safekeeping." 

"Safekeeping…" Ezra repeated, closing his eyes. "Yes, good thing you found them." 

Chris gave him a little slap on his good shoulder, and when Ezra opened his eyes, he was surprised to see no condemnation in Larabee's gaze, only a subtle amusement. 

"You did good, Ezra," Chris told him. 

"I failed miserably," Ezra responded. "I didn't see the clues that were right in front of me. I sent away crucial evidence. I allowed JD to be captured, myself to be caught off-guard and beaten. I committed a hanging offence, was shat on by cattle and flung from a train as a hobo, nearly drowned, assaulted by a tree, harangued by a child about the superiority of ungulates, nearly torn to pieces by a patch of sagebrush, totally ruined my clothing and lost all of my money. I arrived late, nearly allowing JD to suffer horribly." 

Chris listened, but repeated, "You done good Ezra. We'll work with the judge on those horse theft charges. Hopefully we can get you out of that if the horse can be located." 

"Here's hoping they have good citizens more honest than myself in White Rock."

"Everything you did was to save JD," Chris said with conviction. "You never stopped trying, and your plan worked like clockwork." 

"If that was clockwork, then I wouldn't want that timepiece!" 

"You're both still with us, the bad guys have been jailed and the money has been returned." Chris gave Ezra another pat and added, "I'd just prefer it if you didn't get nearly killed next time you do something like this." 

Standish smiled a little and replied, "I'll do my level best to keep that from happening again." 

"Fair enough."

~oOoOoOoOoOo~ 

Ezra stood at the railing above the livery and gazed out across the streets of Four Corners. It was always good to be out of Nathan's clinic and he took a moment to truly appreciate his freedom. 

Gareth Fulshear and Joe Darrow had gone to trial that morning. The wire Chris received proclaimed that that the men had been found guilty. The stolen money and jewelry would be returned to its owners or to their families. Justice would be served on the killers. 

Sherriff Wardlow was locked up as well, for aiding them in their evil deeds. 

An earlier wire delivered the news that Delwood Reeves had journeyed to White Rock on his rented horse and retrieved the finest stallion that Ezra had ever seen. The man who'd kept it was a little reluctant to part with it, but apparently he knew what was best.

Thank the Lord for honest men. Reeves even consented to drop the charges – he was a fool. 

And as far as Ezra knew, Uriah still trooped through the desert on his magnificent steed, Eloise – who was better than a horse in every way possible – at least on one boy's opinion. 

All well and good for everyone – for most at least. 

As Ezra rested against the railing, something darted down the street – a little black and white dog. It dodged in front of a horse that bucked and nearly lost its rider. The dog turned sharply and chased a loose chicken. When the bird flew into the rafters, the terrier scampered up onto the boardwalk where its toe nails put up a racket. In its jaws, it clenched a tiny piece of gray hide. 

"Sadie!" JD shouted from down the street. "Sadie, get back here!" He chased her. 

The dog paused a moment, pricking her ears at the sound of the kid's voice. Then, it kicked off the side of the building – and dashed into the street, narrowly avoiding a wagon. 

"Sadie!" 

Ezra laughed, and JD looked up, spotting him on the balcony. "Hey, Ezra!" Dunne shouted. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dunne," Ezra replied, tipping his head. 

"You free to go? Nathan letting you out?" 

"Only if I behave myself," Ezra replied, turning slightly as Nathan exited the clinic and sauntered toward him. 

"Well, great! Good! 'Cause Mr. Nolan is selling a bunch of stuff from his old house. His sale starts at high noon! I got a few things picked out, and you said you'd get 'em for me, seein' as how you ruined most of the stuff I got in Bernard." 

Ezra's face fell at the thought. 

Jackson clapped a hand at Ezra's back and said, "He says that you promised him." 

Ezra let out a low grumble and carefully pushed off from the balcony's railing. "Very well," he muttered. "You know, I got nothing out of this entire endeavor. Nothing except for perforations, discomfort and an excessive cleaning bill." 

"What about a feeling of well-being?" Nathan asked. "A realization of a job well done? You did a good thing, Ezra." 

Standish scowled. "A warm feeling does not replace my ruined jacket, Mr. Jackson," he said. "It does not repair the watch." And he gingerly made his way to the stairs and started to ease his way down. "It does not find my lost hat!" 

Nathan followed, ready to catch him if he stumbled. 

Ezra went on. "I lost the money I won at the tables that night. Lost my stake along with it." He sighed. "I was an absolute failure in that, and it was a ruin of a journey." 

Jackson listened to the disheartened grumbling until he could stand it no more. “They’ve recovered what you left in your hotel room. All that should be coming back to you,” he mentioned. Then, he leaned close, and whispered in Ezra's ear, "I hear there's a reward for finding the men who robbed the stagecoach." And he pulled back, ready for the reaction. 

Ezra turned abruptly, nearly toppling. "A reward?" he repeated, his voice sounding so young and hopeful. 

"A fairly good one," Nathan told him, unable to help the grin that formed at seeing Ezra's glee. 

Ezra looked about ready to burst. "Well then, Mr. Dunne! Let us check this sale at Mr. Nolan's place. Perhaps we can find something worth our time. I still need to replace a pocket watch. My own piece is out for repair. I need something to use in the meanwhile. What time is it, Mr. Dunne?" 

JD waited at the bottom of the stairs and checked his watch. "It's nearly noon, Ezra. We got to hurry before all the good stuff is gone." 

Ezra nodded, and repeated, "Before the good stuff is gone. Mr. Jackson, care to join us?" 

"I think I might," Jackson responded, smiling still. "You probably owe me a thing or two. I can buy on your dime." 

Ezra groaned, Nathan smiled and helped Ezra down the rest of the stairs. 

"Hey, Ezra," JD started as they walked toward Nolan's, "Can you tell me again what it was like when you jumped on the train from a horse." 

"Well…" Ezra started as he walked between his friends, "It was certainly a heroic tale…" 

And with that, the three men headed toward the sale. Ezra spun the adventure, while JD listened enraptured, leaving Nathan to wonder just how much of it had been embellished, and what had been downplayed. 

On the boardwalk, a little black and white dog rolled on her back. She gripped the remains of a squirrel hide in her teeth as she pulled on it with her front legs. As the men made their way down the street, she tilted her head, noticed their departure, and took chase. 

THE END


End file.
